The Golden Lion
by agapimou34
Summary: Joffrey Baratheon was known throughout the seven kingdoms for his temper, sadism, and ruthless behavior. However, what if there was more to the prince than what meets the eye? What if Joffrey is not who everyone thinks he is? 17 years of using cruelty to mask an even bigger secret is taking its toll on the young prince. Will he rise out of the shadows and claim his destiny?
1. Chapter 1

**Hello lovelies! (FYI to all my MASH readers, I have not given up on those stories yet! Expect an update soon!)- This is a story I've been meaning to write for a long, long, looonnnnnggggg time :) I actually had a draft typed out from a while ago, so I'm building off of it. Please leave your suggestions in the review box for what you think of it, and if you have any ideas for me! Enjoy! XOXO P.S.- I do not have the pleasure of owing Game of Thrones or all its magicalness**

Joffrey was born with it. Cersei had known that there would be something unusual about her firstborn the moment he was conceived, it seemed. It was a maternal instinct, a feeling she had in the pit of her stomach. She didn't know what or why her child would be special, she just prayed to the gods for their wellbeing and happiness.

Joffrey's birth was long and painful, perhaps the most of all her children. Even with an army of midwives, grand maester Pycelle and her beloved twin brother by her side, she couldn't help but be frantic with worry that something would go wrong. It was 36 brutal hours of labor and pushing, but when she heard her son's first gurgle, she forgot about all the pain and was overjoyed. She remembers when he was placed in her arms, big blue eyes staring up guilelessly at her. And for a moment, just a moment, her world was free of the worries and cares that had plagued her all her life. It was just her and Joffrey.

But as quick as that moment of bliss came, it was replaced with worry and concern. "He is not crying," she'd said breathlessly to grand maester Pycelle, "what's wrong, why is he not crying?"

The maester and midwives were baffled, and she remembers the look of confusion on Jaime's face. "He is perfectly healthy, your grace, I haven't the slightest idea why he's being so quiet," Pycelle had murmured, shaking his head in disbelief.

It was the first of many unbelievable things her son would do.

The day after Joffrey's birth, a celebration had been held in the throne room. A grand ball of lords and ladies from all over the seven kingdoms had gathered to congratulate the queen and marvel at her son. The comments quickly grew abrasive on Cersei's nerves, as everyone could not stop commenting on how, " _He'll be a great fighter like his grace!"_ or, " _He has Robert's eyes, in a certain light, don't you agree?"._ She bristled every time her husband's name was mentioned. Robert was a drunken fool who could never compare to Jaime, and she knew it hurt her brother terribly to hear so many people gushing over a child who, as far as they were concerned, had nothing to do with him.

But Cersei could not protest or lash out at the idiots like she'd so desperately wanted to do. Instead, she just held Joffrey in her arms and tried to drown out the mindless chatter and get lost in the beautiful face of her son.

That's when it happened.

Lord Kilgar, a burly man from highgarden, was next in line to greet the queen. With him she thought was his servant, but a second glance told her she was wrong. An elderly woman who looked as old as time itself hobbled over with him as he greeted her with a hearty chuckle. "Your grace, you are looking marvelous as always." He'd patronised.

Cersei smiled politely but did not take her eyes off the old woman dressed in rags. "What is this?" She had asked haughtily, gesturing to the crone.

"A gift!" Kilgar boasted, "It is traditional in highgarden for a newborn to receive their first fortune from a renowned sightseer."

Cersei raised an eyebrow at this, trying to hide her distaste. "We are not in Highgarden, my lord… Tell me, what purpose will this serve me or the future king?" She asked bitterly. She had a deep dislike for fortune tellers; Maggie the Frog was her first run in, but then again, she was a woods witch, not a sightseer. They were all the same in Cersei's eyes, though. Peasants who'd gone mad trying to make a living by lying to people.

Lord Kilgar looked nervous, swallowing slightly. "It's a fun way to spin a tale, my queen, a story to tell him when he gets older. And after she's given you her reading, you can do whatever you like with her." He gestured roughly to the woman, whose face held an unreadable look.

Sensing that this would be the only way to get rid of the annoying lord, she rolled her eyes and held Joffrey close to her. "Very well, then. Give me my son's fortune, hag." She commanded.

The old woman hobbled forward, a crooked grin on her wrinkled face. A bony hand reached out and, quicker than Cersei thought the woman capable, brushed lightly across Joffrey's forehead. She opened her mouth to tell the old crone to take her disgusting hands off her son, but before she could the sightseer gave her fortune.

"Your son shall possess great power and strength, a lion that walks amongst the waves, a boy who speaks the tongue of the sea. And you will be happy." She rasped, making Cersei frown slightly in confusion, but smile proudly. Her boy would bring honor and glory to the Lannister name; this much she knew for sure.

"However," The old woman warned, eyes suddenly taking on a hollow, haunted look, "on the eve of his seventeenth birthday, he shall fall in love with a girl who bears your enemy's crest, and they shall rise up together and the throne will have no king. A three headed beast shall emerge from the darkness you locked it away in, and it will seek its revenge on your kingdom and house. And Joffrey Baratheon, first of his name, will die in defending all he holds dear."

The woman's head came off before any other commotion could occur, Ser Meryn not hesitating to follow through his order. Cersei was so lost in thought that she hadn't even heard herself scream for the woman's head, didn't remember clutching Joffrey close as a crowd gathered to gawk at the scene.

She knew she ought not pay attention to foolish peasant's tales, but for some reason the old woman's words haunted her, taunted her with their abstract meanings. She didn't understand it then; a lion will walk amongst the waves? A three headed beast? She had gone to bed that night holding her son close, refusing to believe anything that woman had said. Her words, however, never stopped ringing through the queen's mind.

Five years later:

"Mama!" Joffrey called, trotting happily along the beach, "Mama, come play with me!"

Cersei was nursing 1 year old Myrcella on the shore, watching her son play about the waves. It was a beautiful, sunny day with her children. Robert had gone hunting for the week, offering the queen some much needed time alone with her cubs. She smiled as Joffrey ran up to her, blonde hair a sandy mess of wisps on his head as he grinned. At five years old, he was the embodiment of a mischievous child. Always a ball of energy, never ceasing to amaze Cersei with his eagerness.

"I am tending to your sister, my love, go on and play in the water." She encouraged, rocking a slightly upset Myrcella.

Joffrey nodded, smile never leaving his face. "Kay!" He called, and ran down to the waves. What happened next would forever change Cersei's world.

She felt her stomach drop and her smile fade as it came out of nowhere; A wave at least 12 feet tall rose up from the deep and engulfed Joffrey, carrying him out to sea.

"JOFFREY!" She screamed, and ran down to the water with a shrieking Myrcella in her arms. Her heart was in her throat as she searched for her child, pleading to the gods that the worst was not possible. She didn't even notice that she had waded into the water up to her hips, expensive gold embroidered gown floating about her as she frantically searched for her eldest.

"Joffrey!" She called again, tears streaming down her face as she searched aimlessly in the water, cradling Myrcella above the waves to her chest.

"I'm here, Mama!" A giggling voice shook her from her daze, and her head snapped around to see Joffrey standing on a glowing blue wave of water, the liquid seeming to cocoon him protectively as he floated three feet or so above the surface level. Fish swam in the water about his face, and he laughed, hands reaching out and stroking the wave. The ocean seemed to purr like an animal, playfully wetting his hair, making him laugh again.

Joffrey noticed his mother's tears and frowned, hands glowing bright blue as they stroked the wave again. "Why're you sad, Mama? The sea was just playing with me, honest."

Cersei was speechless, staring at wide eyed at her son. And the sightseer's words rang through her head; " _A lion amongst the waves… He shall speak the tongue of the sea."_ Dear gods, it was true. What she'd said was true. Her son had magic. Joffrey possessed elemental magic. She felt her world threaten to collapse, and it took all she had in her not to faint. Her children were her life; if anything were to happen to them, she didn't know what she would do. She did, however, know what happened to the few rare people who possessed magic; a terrible fate to be cursed with. They were hunted, stalked, killed for their abilities ruthlessly. To possess magic in Westeros was to have a constant target painted on you, an emblem signaling the most threatening thing of all; you were different. Surely the danger on her son's life would be magnified ten fold now, being that he was Robert's heir already, but now this? A million thoughts ran through Cersei's mind, but perhaps the most unsettling of all was that so far, the once 'stupid, pointless' prophecy was coming _true_. The final thing the woman had said to her burnt like hot coals in her brain; " _He shall die defending all he holds dear… He shall die… He shall die… He shall die…"._

Breathless, she watched as the wave literally carried her son back to shore, setting him down gently on the sand. The water still glowed an ethereal blue where his palms had touched it, and he waved happily as it receded back into the ocean. Cersei ran back out of the water and scooped up her son, peppering kisses all over his face.

"Oh, my son… I thought I'd lost you." She murmured, cupping his cheek with her hand. Joffrey stared back at her innocently, confused at what she'd said. She just held her children close and hurried them back to the castle.

Her maids had a fit when they saw the trio enter the palace, fussing over Cersei's dress and the water soaking her children. "Is everything alright, milady?" Her handmaiden asked, helping her into a new gown.

Cersei pursed her lips before handing Myrcella over to the woman. "Put her to bed. I must see to my son."

"Yes, your grace." The handmaiden answered, gently rocking the princess before going to put her in her crib.

The queen hurried through the halls to her son's room, trying to compose herself so as to not draw suspicion. Her hands were still shaking from it all, her face pale and clammy. She hadn't told Robert, and probably never will. She did not trust the man- not with a wine glass, and certainly not with her son.

She pushed the heavy wooden door open and swept into Joffrey's room, where he sat playing with his toy soldiers on the carpet. He looked up when he saw his mother enter, smiling as he set his toy knight down. "Mama, do you want to come play with me?"

Cersei forced a smile as she knelt down to her son's eye level, resting her hands on his shoulders. "Joffrey… I want to talk to you about what happened at the beach today."

Joffrey frowned in confusion. "What 'bout the beach, Mama?"

The queen drew in a deep breath, looking into her son's deep blue eyes. "You can do things, with the ocean, can't you? Things no one else can?" She half asked, half stated.

Joffrey shrugged, frowning slightly as he rocked back and forth on his heels. "I guess… I'm not in trouble, am I?"

Cersei smiled at her child's innocence and shook her head softly. "No, my love. But you must do me a great favor. You can do that, can't you? Can you be a big, strong king for me?" She asked, trying to keep the trembling out of her voice.

Joffrey's eyes lit up with eagerness and he smiled. "I can do it, Mama!" He exclaimed, "I can be a good king!"

The queen looked her son square in the eyes, her face all seriousness as she spoke to him in a grave tone he'd never heard before. "You must promise me that you will never, ever use your magic again. You are not to speak of it to anyone, not your father, your siblings, no one. Do you understand me?"

Joffrey's smile faded and something broke inside of him. His magic made him happy; surely his mother could see this? It was a part of him, as was the sea. Asking him to stay away was like asking him to carve out what made him feel happiest. When he stood in the waves, he felt alive, felt like flying. When he touched the ocean, he was electric. He belonged. And to suddenly just… Stop? He felt tears begin to stream down his face, his toy knight long forgotten.

"B-but Mama, I-I-" He hiccupped through his sobs.

"Say it!" Cersei cut him off, voice harsher than she meant. It held a desperate tint to it, like she was barely managing to keep from being hysterical. Losing her son was not an option. It just wasn't. "Tell me, Joffrey, tell me you understand!"

The little prince's eyes clouded over, like a flower wilting in the winter, and he nodded. "I understand." He whispered weakly.

Cersei pursed her lips and nodded, collecting herself before pulling Joffrey into her arms. But as she hugged her son, she felt something inside her freeze. Joffrey's posture was stiff and tense, and he did not hug her back. His aura of happiness and mischief was gone. His face was a blank mask, unnerving her the more she looked at him. And even as she left his room, he did not resume playing with his toys. He simply sat there, staring as if looking for something invisible.

Somewhere in her conscience, Cersei felt a pang of guilt, like she'd done something terrible… But just as quickly as the feeling came, it was gone. _This is for the best,_ She told herself firmly. She would not lose her son. She would not.


	2. Chapter 2

**Sorry to leave you with a cliffhanger! Like always, reviews are love!**

Despite the overwhelming majority of assumptions, Joffrey Baratheon did not enjoy cruelty. He did not take pleasure in the suffering of others, at least, if they were innocent. No, sadism was not the young king's problem. What was, however, was his lack of strength to stop it.

There were days, many, in fact, where he felt so much like a puppet. Like one of the wooden dolls Myrcella would play with, he was movable and weak. Often he wondered what kind of person he would be had he not been forced to suppress his magic. _It doesn't matter, now_ , he thought to himself bitterly. It was true; that ship has sailed long ago. He barely remembered what it felt like anymore, being alive. He went through the motions of day to day life, attended court and pretended to fancy sword fighting and hunting. When he'd stopped being himself, he felt like he'd been locked in the deepest dungeon and someone had thrown away the key.

"Joffrey, my love, what stalls you in the sentencing of this traitor?" Cersei hissed with a saccharin smile. _Ah, the puppeteer herself_ , he spat inwardly, holding back a glare at his mother. Joffrey was jerked back to the present as his mother spoke, forcing him back into his surroundings.

A poor farmer knelt before the throne, accused of stealing the food prepared for the royal family. The throne room seemed unusually cold today, the damp stone walls sucking all the warmth from the large hall.

"Oh... 20 lashes." He muttered distractedly, a distant ache in his side slowly growing more prominent.

Cersei looked to her son, admonishing him with one of her mocking stares. "Are you sure such a light punishment is adequate for this crime?" She asked.

Joffrey wanted to strangle her right then and there. Their relationship was strained, to say the least. Ever since that fateful day when she looked him in the eyes and made him promise to never use his own magic, he'd sworn to never trust her again. The look of hysteria that fell over her had proven what he'd already suspected- she was mad over preventing something. But what? He asked himself this question many a night. What was it that his mother never told him? What was it that drove such a devoted parent to practically hiding her child away? Cersei often pretended like nothing had ever happened between the two, that everything was fine and always would be. However, there was no denying the fact that she kept Joffrey away from the public eye as much as possible. He spent hours everyday just pacing about his chambers because his mother would have guards escort him everywhere he went, a treatment his father never got and an annoyance he hardly wanted to deal with. So, he was forced into playing the part of the elusive king. _She practically rules in my place_ , he thought angrily, and it was true. Cersei gave almost all the orders through her son, as though she was afraid that any decree he'd give himself would break him like glass. The only original order he'd given since his abrupt coronation was for the celebration feast to commence. Joffrey knew he had the power to stop his mother. Hell, he could have her head, do whatever he liked with her. But he could not. Myrcella and Tommen loved her so, however strange Joffrey thought the notion, and he knew that to disrespect her in any way would send questions he just could not answer. His siblings were the only ones in his family who he actually enjoyed the company of, and he did not want to lose their affection.

"Quite sure, _mother,"_ he said loudly, causing all the nobles to look upon the queen regent. Cersei barely showed a hint of embarrassment, but to people who knew her well, one could see the shadow of contempt that danced briefly across her face. _That ought to put her in her place,_ Joffrey thought somewhat satisfactorily.

"Thank you, your grace, thank you! You are very merciful, your grace, thank you!" The farmer praised frantically as he was dragged out of the room by two guards. _Poor man will probably be dead by morning,_ Joffrey cringed inwardly, knowing his mother would not stand for a thief to be alive. She'd bribe someone to take care of it. Oh, no, mercy, that just would not do. It would tarnish the ever beloved Lannister name.

"I am tired. Leave me to my chambers." Joffrey announced, exhausted as he rubbed his side. It felt like an old scar had began to throb, and the pain was growing steadily worse. Hiding a grimace, he massaged his temples as he stood to leave when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

 _Gods be damned,_ he thought, ready to unleash a tantrum. "I told you, mother, leave me alone-" he spat as he turned around angrily, but stopped in his tracks to see that it was not Cersei who had touched him. It was lady Sansa, daughter of Eddard stark and beauty of the north.

"I-I apologize, your grace." She stuttered, fear plastered across her innocent face. _Get out of here while you still can, little dove,_ Joffrey thought amused.

"It's fine, my lady," he assured, "I thought you were someone else..." He trailed off again as he felt his world grow dizzy, the pain in his side starting to become unbearable. He had to get to his chambers and soon- if he didn't lie down within the next hour, he'd surely faint.

"My king, are you well? You look ill," Sansa murmured, voice soft with worry.

Joffrey snapped his head up at this. No one could know of this; his mother would make too much of a scene. It was probably just a flu, nothing more.

"I'm fine." He said flatly, and without another word, he practically ran down the great corridors and to his chambers, leaving Sansa behind in shock.

The pain was now truly unbearable, and Joffrey was writhing on his bed in agony. He'd barred the doors to his chambers as soon as he'd entered, wanting no one to see him like this.

But oh, gods, the pain was unlike anything he'd ever known. It was a burning, fiery hot torment that had now consumed his entire body.

His skin was sweating tremendously, and he was sure that a fever had taken grip of him. Then, to his horror, a scream almost escaped his mouth. Hands shaking, he struggled to stuff a rag in his mouth, something to bite down on and muffle his cries.

What was this that had come on so suddenly? _I'd been feeling off all day, I should have seen it coming,_ he thought to himself, _how stupid can I be? Now I shall be known as the idiot king who allowed himself to perish because of his own pride. I am no better than Aerys Targaeryen._

Now quite certain that death was upon him, Joffrey had begun to silently recite the ending prayers to the seven when the unthinkable happened.

The pitcher of water that had been set on the table 5 stones throws away from his bed had suddenly flipped over, and the water that spilled out flew in shards across the room to him, surrounding his body in clear, cool ribbons of Aqua. He didn't have time to think, to marvel at what he'd been missing for so long. He was too busy basking in the sweet relief of water on his skin, cooling the fire and extinguishing the pain that plagued him. But it wasn't just the wetness on the surface of his skin, no. He could feel the water, each individual molecule, seeping into his bones and blood, flowing throughout his body with a steady hum. It was electricity, it was power, it was _right._ And then _,_ it wasn't just that one pitcher. It was seawater bursting through his windows, it was river mist creeping under his door. Seemingly all the water from nearby migrated to him like a magnet to metal, caressing and stroking his very soul like a mother would a child. He was in such euphoria, such joy that he hadn't noticed the pounding and eventual opening of his door.

Sansa rushed inside, hands holding her gown above the floor as she prayed to find the king wasn't being assassinated. His shrieks had echoed right through her bed chambers, and she remembered how sick and pale he looked earlier. "My king! My king, are you alright? Forgive my intrusion, but I heard a terrible scream coming from your chambers and I had to see if you were-"

Sansa froze in shock, staring open mouthed as Joffrey Baratheon, king of the seven kingdoms, was levitating water above his palms, ribbons of blue mist surrounding him as he radiated a turquoise light. The candle she was holding to guide her way dropped out of her hand, the metal holder clattering loudly to the floor.

Joffrey snapped up at this, immediately looking to see Sansa standing there staring. Oh gods, he thought, she saw me. She saw me! And for the first time in a long time, true panic gripped his heart.


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello! Sorry for the short chapter this time- it was necessary for the transition. Expect next chapter soon! Please R &R! Thanks so much for all your support! (Disclaimer: I don't own the magically terrifying world that is Game of Thrones)**

Sansa didn't know what was going on. _This has to be a dream,_ she thought, _yes, any moment now I'm going to wake up and see that none of this is real._ She even blinked hard, trying desperately to shake herself out of whatever crazy spell she was enchanted by.

But when she opened her eyes again, Joffrey was still there, still frozen in place from shock. Immediately, the water succumbed to gravity and fell to the ground, splashing across the stone floor. The blue light he was radiating stopped, and the water in the palm of his hands ceased to glow.

The two simply stared at one another in utter disbelief for a good four minutes, too shocked to make a sound. When she finally did come out of her daze, Sansa turned to rush out of the room.

"No!" Joffrey screeched, and, as if by itself, the door slammed shut before Sansa could leave.

"You... You can't go! Y-you'll tell someone, and you can't tell anyone! No one, do you understand?!" He yelled, unconsciously advancing towards the terrified girl.

Sansa backed up in fear, unknowingly bumping into a table behind her and knocking over a platter of fruit. She fell the to ground, scared for her life as tears started to stream down her face. Joffrey could do anything he wanted to her- who knew what he was capable of? "P-please, m-m-my king, I-I won't tell another soul, ever, I swear to you!" She stuttered, looking up into the king's sea glass green eyes.

Joffrey pursed his lips momentarily, staring down at the terrified girl before him. A million thoughts flew through his mind, each one more horrible than the last. He hadn't meant to frighten the poor girl, and now, here she was, trembling before him. _If she had just stayed in her chambers, none of this would have ever happened,_ he thought grimly _, she'd never have seen me for the freak that I am._

"What are you doing here, anyway?" He snarled, turning away from her as he looked towards the sea out his window.

"I heard your cries of pain, my king, I could not bear to think of you suffering. I came to help." Sansa murmured quietly.

"Help?" Joffrey laughed bitterly, "In what kingdom does intruding on one's solar help?"

Sansa's voice hitched on a sob as she covered her face with her hands. She didn't know what to make of any of this- the king had magic, and she was the only witness. "I am sorry for the intrusion, your grace, I did not mean to offend you. It shall never happen again, I promise." She assured shakily.

Joffrey rubbed his hands together in worry, barely managing to keep his hysteria under wraps. The daughter of a noble, princess of the north had seen his deepest secret. _She could tell everybody,_ he thought, _mother would have me locked away forever to keep the crowds from tearing me apart and using my innards as dog food... Or worse..._

Joffrey wasn't stupid- he knew the terrible fate that marked most sorcerers. People who had magic, whether they were born with it or not, were frowned upon in almost every corner of westeros and cast out for witchcraft. The idea of a king, and not just any king, the protector of the realm, having magic was so ludicrous that even the most stoic of knights would break out in laughter.

 _Oh, seven hells, why does this have to be so hard?_ Joffrey thought frantically as he paced the room, _why did she have to be the daughter of the north instead of some peasant girl I could kill and forget about_? He certainly couldn't kill Sansa- that would raise too much suspicion. _Besides_ , a little voice called out in his head, _she's just a stupid, innocent girl. You can't kill an innocent girl. Not even you are that heartless._ Joffrey finally stopped pacing, turning towards the crying Stark girl. He took a deep breath in a foolish attempt to steady himself as he cleared his throat.

"Lady Sansa... I do... Apologize, if I have frightened you," he began, and at those words the red headed girl looked up in surprise, "I cannot control my... My..." He struggled to say the word.

"Magic?" Sansa asked flatly, not quite believing her own interjection.

Joffrey nodded curtly. "Yes, that. No one knows of my curse and no one can ever find out. It would be the end of you, and it would be the end of me. It would be the destruction of everything we hold dear. If we both swear to never speak of this to anyone, I think we can avoid a terrible fate. Do you agree?"

Sansa nodded vigorously, and Joffrey stared into her eyes for the first time to make sure she wasn't lying. There was no trace of malice in those icy grey orbs, only fear and the desire to put this all behind them.

"... Good. Th-that's good." Joffrey said shakily, breathing finally beginning to even out. "You may go now."

Sansa jumped up to leave, rushing to the exit when she stopped herself at the door. The words left her mouth before she could stop them. "I don't think it's a curse. I think it's beautiful."

Joffrey paused, looking up at her slowly as if to make sure he heard her right. No one had ever said anything he'd ever possessed or done was beautiful. The words felt strange to him, like a pair of brand new boots on his feet. If only they were true. "Well," he swallowed thickly, "then you're a foolish girl who knows not what she speaks."

He heard the quick patter of shoes signaling that she had disappeared down the hall. As soon as she was out of earshot, he allowed himself to fall into a panic. Someone had seen him. For the first time in twelve bloody years, someone had _seen_ him! And not just that, what did any of this mean? Was he going crazy? Why did the unbearable pain cause him to lose control? Normally, Joffrey knew how to keep his magic under wraps. It was second nature to him; it was hard to describe in words how he managed to hide his abilities from the world, but the idea of losing that control was beyond terrifying. _If mother were to find out, she'd never leave me alone again_! He thought anxiously. N _o, this will never get out, I think I've scared the Stark girl sufficiently. No one will ever know, and all will be as it was._

He tried to calm himself in some small manner, tried to steady his breathing as he shakily got into bed. _Maybe this is all one big dream_ , he made to assure himself, _maybe the pressure of the throne is getting to me._

But as he looked out from under the heavy woolen covers of his bed _,_ he caught sight of the broken windows where the water rushed in, the pitcher lying on its side, and the fruit strewn about the floor from when the table tipped over. It was certainly real, and Sansa was the only witness. He knew he would never be able to look at the girl the same way again, knowing that she knew of his curse. And as he drifted into a restless sleep, he was saddened by this; for no one had ever called his magic beautiful before. And the words, foreign as they were, brought him a kind of solace he'd never felt anything quite like.


	4. Chapter 4

**Hello! So sorry for the long update take :( As always, reviews are love! Thank you so** **much for your continued support!**

"Joff? Joff, are you alright?"

A gentle voice woke him from his sleep, and Joffrey blearily opened his eyes to see Myrcella standing over him, concern falling on her kind face.

"Mm... How long was I asleep?" He asked tiredly, sitting up with his sister's help.

"You slept through the night- it's the break of dawn, Joff... You went to your chambers early last evening and no one saw you since. I apologize if I've intruded, but I couldn't sleep without knowing that you are well." She said softly, sitting on the edge of the bed.

Joffrey frowned in confusion. The last thing he remembered was... Oh, gods... Sansa, his magic, it all came rushing back to him in dizzying waves. He must've exhausted himself with his sudden use of power and fallen asleep without a second thought. I must tread lightly today, he thought to himself, no doubt my actions last night have already raised suspicions.

"I am fine," he said, voice hoarse.

Myrcella smiled at him in that loving, trusting way that always made Joffrey feel either wonderful or terribly guilty. She put her hands on his and rubbed his palms gently with her thumbs. "I miss you, big brother. The throne has stolen you from Tommen and I. All we have left now is the drawling lectures of our septas."

Joffrey chuckled softly and leaned back on the many pillows of his bed. "Please; the throne has not "stolen" me from either of you. You have mothers pension for drama." He added, not pulling his hands from his sister's grip. Her skin was smooth and cool against his clammy, rough palms.

"I do not!" She exclaimed playfully.

"Do, too," Joffrey retorted with glee, and the two siblings stuck their tongues out at each other before laughing out loud. It was beautiful and unforgettable when Joffrey was able to do something he'd longed to do his whole life- and that was just being a kid who had fun with his siblings.

But childhood had deserted him the moment he locked a part of himself away, and he had grown used to living without one.

"Well, regardless of whether you're exaggerating, I suppose I could afford to spend today with you and Tommen."

Myrcella's face lit up like a candle, beaming happily as she leaned over to kiss him on the cheek. "Thank you, Joffy. I shall go tell Tommen, he will be so excited." She murmured eagerly before gathering her gown and running out of his chambers.

The young king sighed, a million different emotions flying through his head. He knew to steer clear of Sansa today, that was for sure. He didn't think he could bear to look her in the eyes now that she'd seen the rawest part of him, now that his deepest vulnerability was exposed.

As he got dressed, his mind was solely on controlling himself today. He knew he had many responsibilities and legalities to deal with, but after suffering such unbelievable pain last night and being bound to an unsettling memory, he decided that if mother or anyone else pressed him on the matter, he'd tell them to go to hell.

His siblings were his only friends, not to mention the most important, pure, and innocent people in his life. They weren't filled with jealousy or resentment, and Kings Landing hadn't tainted them with lies and bitterness. He hated having to keep his secret from them- many a times he had seriously considered telling them, but held back for fear of what mother would do if he did. The last thing he wanted was for his brother and sister to pay for his mistakes. He hated his magic; he hated that he loved water so, that the sea made him feel alive and to be away from it pained him more than anything. He hated his mother for forcing him to hide it, for controlling his every move in her lust for the throne. He hated the world for being so cruel to others like him, and he hated the seven for giving him this fate.

But somewhere, in the dark, sad halls of his consciousness, Sansa's voice rang through like crystal bells on a cold winter's night; "I don't think it's a curse... I think it's beautiful."

Foolish girl, he thought as he made his way to Tommen's chambers, she cannot possibly love anything about such a hideous oddity like mine. Lies, all of it.

"Did you see me, Joff? I hit it!" Tommen called excitedly, pointing to the arrow that he'd shot through the target.

"Mmh... Aim to the right a bit more, keep both eyes open." Joffrey advised from his spot in the shade. The three children were out in the royal courtyards playing, and the last three hours had been filled with nothing but fun and games, the wide space vibrating with the echo of children's laughter and shrieks.

A game of 'chase the chickens' had tired them out thoroughly, and Joffrey and his sister were lying lazily on the grass while Tommen, the ten year old full of energy, kept practicing his crossbow to impress his older brother.

"He wants to be just like you, do you know that?" Myrcella mused quietly, watching as the young boy reloaded his weapon. "All he ever talks about is how strong and tall and brave you are."

Joffrey swallowed thickly, chuckling a little at that. Why did it hurt so much to hear that his younger sibling admired him? "He must not know me well, then." The blonde boy murmured lowly.

Myrcella's porcelain doll face frowned, and she squeezed his hand she was holding. All this touching, he thought somewhat cynically, just like them to coddle like babes.

"Don't say that- you are brave, Joffrey. I could never take on the throne, let alone rule as well as you do. It takes courage." She admonished lightly.

Joffrey couldn't help the small, bitter chuckle that escaped his lips. My rule, he thought jeeringly, I wonder how the realm would react if they ever found out that Cersei Lannister was the puppeteer behind the stage. The mighty king, worn like a pelt and manipulated by a lioness bitch. "Indeed." He simmered lowly, causing Myrcella to look at her brother with worry. Her concern was unnoticed, though, for Joffrey was lost in his own thoughts and memories, the gentle spring breeze cartwheeling him back nine years ago.

"What have I told you about going near the river?!"

Smack.

"Y-y-you said-"

"Don't interrupt me!"

Smack.

The harsh slaps of his mother burnt like icy needles on his face, and he fought hard not to cry. He knew tears only ever made it worse.

"Joffrey..." Cersei gripped his shoulders painfully, a sort of manic look in her eyes as she knelt down to her sons level. "Why are you not allowed to go to the river?"

"Because my magic-"

Smack.

"Don't say that word! That's a bad word, a king must never say it!" She half screeched, half snapped.

Joffrey quivered slightly but refused to let down the front he had been holding.

"Because of the curse." He whispered shakily, looking down at his feet.

Cersei's painful grip on his shoulders lessened significantly, her scolding face slowly shifting back into her plastered mask of elegance and grace, the slightly mocking smile that danced across her lips at all times. "That's right. And you can never go there for the same reason why you can never go to the sea, or the lake, even the rain. You stay inside and let the servants bring you something to drink if you're thirsty, but other than that you are never to be seen near those banks again! Do you understand me?"

Joffrey wanted to- he wanted to so badly. The world was already complicated enough for a seven year old, let alone one who was raised in the complexity of palace life with the added baggage of his abilities. But he wanted desperately to know why his mother was so insistent on him cutting a part of himself away. She claimed every single time that it was to protect him, that if anyone ever found out, horrible things would happen to him. But sometimes, in his darkest, hellish moments, he'd rather be taken away by an angry crowd with his powers unleashed than be caged inside the suffocating castle, forcing the nagging feelings down deeper and deeper. It was like a game: hide it away, push it down and control it until it eventually comes back up to the surface. Repeat this over and over again, until you finally realize that the part of you you love the most is the part that is unwanted, ugly, unnatural. It filled him with such shame and despair to know that he found beauty in what was supposed to be a curse. He found hope in all the wrong places. And hope that was grasped without boundaries was no use at all. Hope was weakness. Mercy was weakness.

"I understand." He'd said, and he remembered his mother's eyes widen when he spoke. Not because of what he'd said, but the way he'd said it. His tone was flat, voice completely emotionless. It scared Cersei to hear such a steely, cold voice from her son. He was but seven years old and already just as, if not more, gifted at hiding his emotions than herself. To see such numbness coming from a child was unnerving and disturbing, and she'd only been able to swallow thickly and released him like his touch had burned her before walking away.

Joffrey felt a sense of pride that day, a sense of satisfaction in actually scaring his mother. It was not even close to the misery she caused him, but it was a beacon of hope to know that even he, the freak with all the odds against him, could penetrate the first layer of iron guard that armed the queen's psyche. But that does not change what she does to me now, he thought bitterly to himself. He felt like a hollow, empty pipe through which Cersei ruled the kingdom. He was no king; he was a charade, a mirage to fool Westeros. All he could do was sit still and try not to scream.

"Joffrey? Are you alright?" Myrcella's voice brought him back to the moment, and he smiled tightly, nodding at his sister.

"Fine."


	5. Chapter 5

**Hello everyone! Thanks for all your support and reviews on this story so far! Please continue to click that review button and leave your input :) If I get enough of one suggestion, I just may incorporate that into my next chapter! (hint hint) :P :D**

"Sansa, what troubles you? You haven't been this quiet since we left winterfell." Ned Stark asked his eldest daughter.

Sansa swallowed heavily. "I am fine, father... just a bit tired is all." She managed to answer without faltering.

The lord of the north gave her one last concerned look before standing to leave. "Very well. Your sister is almost done having lessons with her septa. I have to tend to matters with the small council. Stay here and keep things in order."

"Yes, father." She replied dutifully, watching as he walked out the door before releasing a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. That seemed to be her life lately: treading ever so lightly and hoping that she wouldn't slip up and say something detrimental. After the events of last night, she had been lucky enough to avoid the king all day without a single confrontation. So, perhaps what she'd told her father wasn't a complete lie. She was indeed very tired, having had a sleepless night before. Every time she closed her eyes, Joffrey's terrified face forced her awake. His pale, frightened face- Sansa didn't even think it was possible for the so-called sadistic king to look so afraid. But he had, and it would haunt her for the rest of her days. Water magic. The king of westeros was born a sorcerer. The idea in itself was terrifying; if the realm were to ever find out that their king possessed magic, all hell would break loose. Not to mention the fact that Joffrey's relations with the people were already incredibly strained. This begged her to question who else knew. Was she the only one? Surely his with mother would notice that her flesh and blood was born with such an oddity. But if she did know, the queen had been excellent at hiding it. From the outside, all seemed about as normal as it could be with the royal family. But Sansa was no longer just an outsider. She had unknowingly crossed the line that separated the Lannister-Baratheon family from the rest of the world. And what of the former king? Robert had been a good friend of her father's, he certainly would have told Ned if something was off about his heir. Was Joffrey really so desperate to keep his secret that he wouldn't let his own father know?

"My lessons today were almost as boring as you." Aria's voice cut through Sansa's psyche, dragging her back to the present. She turned to see her sister sitting down at the table, dropping her books with a disgusted thud.

"Shut up, brat," She snarled, folding her arms at her younger sister, "at least I'm not an animal like you."

"You aren't anything. All you care about is getting the attention of that wicked boy." Aria stuck her tongue out and frowned.

Sansa glared at the girl, trying to hide her nerves. "He is not wicked! You can't speak about our king that way."

Aria scoffed slyly, turning back to the work of sharpening her knife. "If he's such a good king, then why is he never around? Rumor has it that he's never left the palace in his entire life. No one ever even sees him."

This caught Sansa's attention and she perked up immediately, looking carefully at her sister. "Who told you that?" She demanded.

"The maids in the kitchen and the foreman on the stairs," Aria spoke nonchalantly, "they told me the last time he made a public appearance was when he was seven. Since then, all he does is stay locked up in his chambers all day. Coward."

Sansa shot her younger sister a disapproving look, but the gears were turning in her mind. _He must hate ruling if he's so shy_ , she thought to herself, _being in the spotlight while hiding something so monumental has to be awful._ And she was suddenly overcome with a deep sadness for the boy, a kind of pity that went beyond wishing condolences. She felt the need to help, foolish as it might be. She couldn't bear the thought of leaving things between them like they were now. Ever since she first laid eyes on him, her dream was to escape the drab of winterfell and marry the most sought after prince in the land. But now, she didn't know what to think. She was puzzled, enamored, and terrified of him all at once. She knew he was capable of great cruelties, but after what had happened between the two, she just couldn't believe that the frightened boy was the same sadistic tyrant everyone talked about. He looked too young, too careful, too human. She had yet to look pure evil in the eyes, but even she knew Joffrey was not that.

"I'll be back. Don't break anything." Sansa ordered her sister as she stood up, walking towards the door.

"Where are you going?" The younger asked curiously, ignoring her sister's commands.

"None of your business. Just sit still and wait for me." Sansa said, slightly annoyed before closing the door behind her. Her father would not be pleased if he knew she'd wandered the castle alone, but she could no longer ignore the nagging feeling that been eating away at her since her encounter with Joffrey.

She walked as quietly as she could through the stone halls, peering every which way to make sure she wasn't being followed. As she made her way to the king's chambers, she couldn't help but shiver uncomfortably at the menacingly big corridors. _This must've been an awful place to grow up in,_ she thought as she eyed the looming iron armor hanging on the walls, _I know this castle was built to show power and leadership, but all it shows me is emptiness and fear. I can't imagine what it's like to be a child wandering through these halls._

Eventually, after a few wrong turns and a couple of stops to readjust her painful, lady-like shoes, she reached the large wooden doors that marked the king's chambers. Taking a deep breath, she prepared to knock, moving her body against the terror that flooded her mind. _He could behead you any second, he's dangerous, what are you doing?_ But she ignored herself, and knocked her fist against the door twice.

"Who goes there?" A deep voice caused her to gasp and she whirled around, coming face to face with an armed guard.

"Sansa Stark. I wish to speak with the king." She said nervously, trying not to stutter on her words.

The guard glared at her, spear firmly held in his hand. "The king does not wish to be disturbed with the petty matters of women. Away with you."

Sansa frowned slightly, looking to the guard pleadingly. "I won't be long, please, just let me talk to him."

"Are you deaf, little girl? I said away with you. Now!"

"What the hell is all this noise about?"

Sansa and the guard froze, turning slowly to see Joffrey standing in the doorway. His red, embroidered tunic hung lightly from his thin frame, and his golden hair was slightly disheveled. When his eyes came to rest on Sansa, his face turned three shades of white and he swallowed thickly.

"Apologies, your grace. This girl will not bother you anymore." The guard said lowly, taking Sansa firmly by the arm before thrusting her away. She landed on the ground with a wince, holding her forearm in pain. Embarrassment flushed across her cheeks and she bit her lip while trying not to cry. _Look what you've done_ , she scolded herself, _going around and making a fool of yourself in front of him-_

"I am the king," Joffrey snapped at the guard, voice louder than any of them expected, "you cannot tell me what others will and will not do. I decide that she will speak with me. Now leave us."

"But your grace-"

"Leave us! Before I have your tongue cut out for your insolent words!" Joffrey growled, and that threat was all it took for the guard to bow and disappear around the corner. Sansa stared at him, mouth open for just a second before hurrying to collect herself. She rose from the ground, brushing her gown off and curtsying deeply before him.

"My king, I-I am sorry for the interruption. I simply wish to speak to you for a few minutes." She said, and to her dismay the trembling in her voice was very noticeable. She dared not look up from the ground, afraid of what she might encounter if she looked him in the face. However, after a moment he sighed deeply and folded his arms.

"Come inside." He muttered, and Sansa imperceptibly breathed in relief as she stood up and once more entered his chambers.

"Close the door." He called irritatedly, and Sansa clamored to shut the heavy wooden doors behind her. As she did so, she peered around the enormous room; it looked like nothing had ever happened. The table was right side up again, the shattered windows were replaced, and there was not the slightest hint that anything unusual had gone on that night.

"You know that I can have your head for disturbing me, don't you? You know what I am capable of?" Joffrey's voice was painfully cold, and it made her want to question why she came in the first place. However, she stood her ground and managed to not beg for mercy. _He's just a boy,_ she reminded herself, _just two months older than you._

"I know this, your grace." Sansa answered respectfully, posure straight as she silently searched for words.

Joffrey paused his pacing, eyeing her warily as he leaned up against a marble pillar. "Yet you came anyway... Have you no fear at all, Stark girl?" He hissed venomously, trying to make himself appear as tall and dominant as possible.

Sansa pursed her lips, growing slightly tired of his icy behavior. "With all due respect, your grace, I know you will not harm me." The words left her mouth before she could filter them, and suddenly she found herself restraining her hand from covering her mouth. _Stupid, stupid girl! Do you have a death wish?_ She chastised herself.

The king's shoulders went tense, and he stood ramrod straight. His expression was unreadable, button nose and childlike features appearing much older than they actually were. "How do you presume to know that?" He demanded, voice flat.

"Because if you did, I would be dead already." She answered plainly, not quite believing the conversation she was currently having. She prayed to gods old and new that she didn't look as dumb as she felt.

To both relief and confusion, however, Joffrey began to laugh. A soft chuckle at best, but a laugh nonetheless. SHe forced herself to not look astonished as he faced her, seaglass green eyes mischievous in a way she'd never seen before. When one thought of king Joffrey Baratheon, they thought 'murderer', 'coward', 'sadistic'. They certainly did not think of mischievous. But, lo and behold, here he was, and Sansa once more found herself witnessing what before she was sure was impossible.

"You are clever, lady Sansa… Clever, indeed." Suddenly, as quick as it had come, the mirth faded from his face and was replaced with the stony, cold expression he normally wore. "That is a dangerous quality for a woman to have."

Sansa drew in a short breath before saying her peace. "Your grace, about last night-"

"I thought we agreed to _never_ speak of it again." Joffrey snapped in a treacherously low voice, and she could have sworn she saw the glimmer of a knife beneath his belt. Fear pounded within her like a stick on a drum, but still, as if pushed by some unknown force, she continued.

"I would never tell another soul, your grace, my word is true and I hold it to remain that way. I came to speak with you because I want us to be on good terms. I don't want what happened last night to change anything between us." Sansa rushed out, voice nearing hoarseness towards the ending.

Silence. Joffrey didn't speak for a long moment, and for those seconds Sansa was sure he was furious. She did not know what to expect, for this boy could change moods like the weather. His unpredictability was terrifying, and combined with his power, he was like wildfire. Uncontrollable and virtually unsurvivable. But something within her, something she could not quite identify yet, gave her hope that he was more than what met the eye.

Finally, the king spoke. "What do you mean, 'between us'?" He asked, and his voice was quiet and shy, almost embarrassed. He sounded like an entirely different person, and the red headed girl could've sworn she saw his pale cheeks flushed a shade of pink.

She dared to take a step closer to him. "Well... I enjoy your company, your grace. I'd like to think that perhaps you enjoy mine as well. I look forward to getting to know you better while I am here, and I just wanted you to know that."

Joffrey looked incredulous, and before Sansa could register what was happening, he had her pressed against the wall, a knife to her neck. She cried out in fear, breath shallow as he gripped her tightly. "I know what you're doing," he hissed, "you selfish girl. You don't care about me. You hate me. You're like all the other bitches that I have had the misfortune of coming across. All you want is the throne, the luxuries of being queen."

Sansa swallowed and tried to force back the tears that were now pricking at her eyes. "N-n-no, my king, th-that's not true! I would n-never do s-such a thing!"

"Lies!" Joffrey cried, pressing her harder against the stone wall. At this point, her arm was beginning to hurt from being held in such a harsh position, and to her frustration she felt hot tears run down her face. Before she could stop herself, she blurted out,

" _Why_ is it so hard for you to believe that someone could possibly care for you?!"

She waited for death. She knew she had pushed him over the edge. The words flew from her mouth like a raven from the east, and she could not take them back. Now, with an angry king and a knife to her throat, she waited for death to take her. She thought of her family, her mother back in winterfell… She'd never gotten to say she loved them…

But death did not come for her. The king did not slit her throat, nor did he call for his guards to torture her. Instead, he let her go. She slid down to the ground against the wall, gasping for breath as she slunk to the ground. She heard the metal clatter of the knife as it fell from Joffrey's palm to the floor, his shoulders drooping as his anger disappeared.

"What did you say?" He whispered in disbelief, so softly and so carefully, as if he was afraid he'd break something.

"I said… I care for you." Sansa answered through her tears, watching as her words sunk in for Joffrey. She watched his facial expression change from doubt, to contemplating, to doubting once more, to finally taking some stock in her words.

"Why?" He asked, and his voice was so genuinely confused that it made Sansa's heart break. Had he really believed himself to be so unloveable, so hated that the mere thought of someone _truly_ caring for him was foreign? Had no one, not even his parents, ever told him he was loved or special? She had never before seen such bewilderment on any human's face when it came to such a basic matter. He was the king, he was supposed to have everything he could ever desire. Yet now, his face looked identical to one of the beggars in fleabottom who'd been offered something they'd never had.

"... Because I think you are special. You are unique. Not just because of the talent you possess, but because you are, well, you. You are Joffrey, and there will never and has never been another person in the entire world like you." She said softly, rising slowly from the ground to face him. And in that moment, even though she knew she should have been, she was no longer afraid.

The confusion was still plain on his face, but he seemed to be a bit more open as he eyed her suspiciously. "... What does this entail? Do we have to kiss?" He demanded nervously, palms sweaty as he tried to maintain what little dignity he felt he had left.

Sansa smiled, her gentle expression soothing every doubt the king had swirling about his mind. "I would settle for being friends, for now, if that's alright with you." She offered kindly.

Joffrey was confused when the corners of his lips turned upwards, and ever so slightly he shook the hand she held out to him. He'll always remember the softness of her palms, the smoothness of her skin as she shook his palm.

"Very well… Friends."

And as Joffrey seemingly finalized his agreement with the Stark girl, he nervously began to wonder what he had gotten himself into. He hadn't the slightest idea how to act in such a foreign situation. He'd never had a friend before.


	6. Chapter 6

**Hello all! Thank you for your comments and as always, please hit that review button! Also, don't forget to vote in my poll listed in my profile as to who Joffrey's male role model should be! This week's popular opinion share: how do you think Joffrey's character is progressing?** Disclaimer: I own nothing :(

"It bothers you, doesn't it?" Tyrion smirked, looking to his older sister. Cersei stood rigid and tense, arms folded as she looked out the window.

"Since when do my personal matters concern you?" She sneered, watching the scene unfold before her. Joffrey, to the shock and awe of everyone who worked in the palace, was out in the courtyard playing some childish ball game with the Stark girls and their direwolves. It filled the queen with a sort of joy at first, seeing her son seemingly happy. But then, joy had morphed to concern, which melded into suspicion, which ultimately dissolved into fury. Cersei was incensed at the idea of Joffrey's relationship with the stark girls. They were stealing her son away from her, filling his head with impossible and foolish ideas. He had not been the same since Sansa had taken him to the courtyards a week ago and showed him some peasant game that caught his interest. He ruled distractedly, sitting upon the iron throne with a gleam in his eyes that wasn't there before. He hardly gave out any punishments anymore, especially to those who deserved it most. He was becoming softer, more easily persuaded. Not only was this a danger to her son, but it was a stain on the Lannister name.

"Please, dear sister. You make _everything_ a personal matter." Tyrion interrupted her thoughts as he took a swig of wine from his cup, "You can't stand the fact that your child is behaving like a child."

"He is the king!" Cersei snapped suddenly, breaking her silence with an icy resolve. "Those girls have no business distracting him. He cannot afford the repercussions of a negligent rule."

The younger scoffed, eyeing his sister with that look in his eyes that only served to make Cersei more angry. He'd always look at her with an almost imperceptible hint of pity, as if he had something she didn't and felt sorry for her. The mere idea of that made the queen want to laugh with bitterness. "You think the stark children plan to distract him? Sansa is not yet fourteen, her sister four years younger. The only thing on their minds is having fun. Maybe the concept is foreign to you, since Jaime and I were the only ones growing up with an adventurous side."

Cersei pursed her lips at the mention of her closeted lover, and she shot a venomous glare at Tyrion. "Regardless, they are children of the North. They are loyal to their father first and foremost, and Eddard Stark is not to be trusted. You mark my words, that man will attempt to overthrow us sooner than later." She muttered, gathering the folds of her gown before walking towards the door. She didn't want to suffer her imp brother's comments any longer, but as always, the younger could not leave his sister without a parting word.

"Our downfall will be far more brutal than anything Ned could ever muster. Everyone seems to know it… except you." He spoke, and Cersei didn't reply. However, he didn't miss the way his sister's posture was wary and attentive as she left. Her small nuances were monumentally noticeable to an observant eye like Tyrion's, and he constantly found himself passing the time by analyzing the queen's thoughts without even asking what she was thinking. _For such an icy bitch, the woman is remarkably easy to read,_ he thought smugly to himself.

* * *

"You can't use a sword, that's cheating!" Arya declared in annoyance, watching as Joffrey attempted slice an apple down from high up on a tree branch. Since the break of dawn, He, Sansa, and Arya had been passing the time by playing a variety of surprisingly difficult games, most of which Joffrey had never heard of and all of which he'd never played. He vaguely remembered his siblings begging him to come outside with them and run around when he was younger, but like every other childhood gem in his life, it was forbidden. So, now he stood, trying his hardest not to behead his first official friend's younger sister in sheer irritation.

"I am the king, I can do whatever I want!" He snapped at the pestering little girl.

Arya smirked fearlessly, shrugging her shoulders. "Of course you can. But if you did, you'd just prove my point."

"What point?"

"You're as cowardly as a chicken being chased by a direwolf." She announced, grinning unabashedly.

"Arya, that's rude!" Sansa scolded sharply, chiding her sister for her actions. _It seems that is all I've been doing of late,_ the red haired girl thought to herself, _whatever Father is doing must be ungodly tedious. He's condemned me to watch her since yesterday._

"Y-you can't call me that! I'm the king!" Joffrey sputtered indignantly, seemingly at a loss for how to respond. Very few people could confront him so boldly, and he would never admit it, but it was slightly amusing that a little girl could offer more of a challenge than a city of seasoned warriors.

"'I'm the king, and I still hide behind my mum when it storms!'" Arya mocked in a nasally voice, hands on her hips as she smirked at the older children, both of whom had their mouths wide open in shock. "You want me to believe you're not a coward? Prove it. Climb the tree."

Joffrey, who'd finally had enough, didn't even notice when he threw his sword to the ground. He didn't even notice the absence of rage, which had been replaced by a newfound shade of determination. "Fine! Watch me." He declared, and marched towards the tall appletree.

"Arya, what are you doing?!" Sansa hissed lowly to her younger sister, "You could get us in trouble!"

"Please, he may be king but he's still a boy. All boys want to do is show off." Arya sighed in amusement. She knew her sister was enamoured with the reclusive brat, but that didn't mean _she_ had to like him. In her eyes, Joffrey was still a cruel and sadistic boy who had no guts of his own to speak of.

"Be careful, your grace!" Sansa called up to Joffrey nervously, watching as he struggled to climb up to the branch.

"My lady, I assure you I have faced far more perilous-" joffrey spoke as he reached for the apple, but was cut off immediately by the sound of a branch breaking. Frantically, he looked to his foot to see the thin wood splintering beneath him, leaving him with nothing to grab onto.

"Joffrey!" Sansa cried in horror, and in a blur, the king fell from the tree.

He prepared himself for death, felt the awful sensation of falling as he readied himself to hit the ground. And for the first time in a long time, he was sad at the prospect of leaving his life behind. Right when things were getting interesting, right when he'd made his first _friend,_ he'd die by crashing down from an apple tree.

Sansa tried to look away, though it all happened so quickly that she did not have time. But at the last second, just before the boy hit the ground, a flash of something shimmering and blue shot up and pushed him away, causing him to tumble safely (albeit not without pain) onto the grass. And as quick as it came, it had gone. She didn't even have time to think about it as she ran over to him, heart in her chest.

"Joffrey! Your grace, are you alright? Are you hurt?" She asked hurriedly, kneeling beside the trembling king.

 _No,_ Joffrey thought to himself, _it couldn't have been… How? I've managed to control it all these years, why now?_ He didn't even care that his magic had saved his life. What was more terrifying to him at the moment was the fact that he did not initiate that surge of power. And he could not stop it.

"What in seven sins was that?!" Arya yelled, running over to them. Sansa and Joffrey briefly looked up at her, and noticed her dress was soaking wet. "It's salt water! Where did that come from? The ocean is across the port, how did _seawater_ manage to fly over here?! It's bloody amazing, that's what it is! Did you see it, Sansa?"

The two were frozen, and both had a million thoughts running through their heads. They turned to look at one another, eyes wide and afraid, and they could not say a word. They both knew what had happened, and they both were unsure how to go about it. Quickly, Sansa moved to defuse the situation with he younger sister. "Probably a servant bringing back fish from the harbor. Stop flailing and go get a new gown, you're dripping wet." She stated with as much sureness in her voice as she could.

Arya looked at her incredulously. "How could you _not_ have seen that? I swear, it-"

"NOW, Arya!" Sansa shrieked louder than she'd meant to, and, getting the message, the younger girl darted off to collect herself.

"My king, are you in pain?" Sansa turned her attention back to Joffrey, blue eyes searching for any sign of injury that would be associated with a fall from such a height. And all the while, Joffrey could not help but be curious. _She lied to her sister to save my secret… Why did she do this? I have given her nothing to motivate such an action but a poorly phrased blackmail… Why did she lie for me?  
_ "Joffrey?" The soft, concerned voice coaxed him back to reality, and his sea green eyes met hers fervently. His feelings all twisted thorns and conflict, yet still he knew that he never wanted her to stop being there. Just her presence, her voice, just _her._ She was necessary to him in the most unusual way, and though they'd just met these past two weeks, he felt for some strange reason that he'd known her for a century. She was his friend. But he could not allow this to continue. His curse was becoming stronger, and one slip-up had almost exposed her sister to his powers. _No one can know,_ he thought, words driven into his head over time, _it's for the best. She cannot be associated with you if your secret is so unstable._

"I… I have to go." He said, trying to keep the pain and fear from his voice as he dragged his aching body up from the ground before running off and disappearing into the palace again, leaving a confused and sad Sansa kneeling alone in the courtyard.


	7. Chapter 7

**Hello friends! So sorry it's been a while since an update- I will try to continue to update more frequently! I love reviews, so click away! Enjoy!**

 **Disclaimer- I don't own Game of Thrones**

The next three days were about as quiet and lonely as Joffrey could imagine. He had not shown his face since that day in the courtyard, and had spent hours pacing back and forth in his chambers as he mulled over what to do. He was constantly in a state of worry- he had no idea what would set his magic off, and therefore could not stop another attack should one arise. The lack of control was driving him to his wits end, not to mention the fact that if he hid any longer, mother would surely butt her nose into this business.

Joffrey scolded himself venomously when a single knock on the door caused him to jump in fright. _Acting like a squirming peasant,_ he thought in disgust as he grit his teeth. "Who's there?" He demanded angrily, almost daring it to be his mother. _So help me gods, if that woman tries to bother me again-_

"Oh, just your imp of an uncle. The brother of the woman who brought you into this life, god of pleasure and maidens-"

"Come in, uncle!" Joffrey snapped, not wanting to hear of Tyrion's many tales of seduction and erotic valiancy. He was wary about allowing anyone to see him, but he figured his uncle would probably be too drunk to remember should anything happen. And, although he would never, _ever_ admit it, his uncle Tyrion was one of the most remarkable people he'd ever met. In a family notorious for their power and ruthlessness, his uncle had more to offer than simple threats. He was smart, cunning, and could figure out any problem life seemed to throw at him. He knew his mother despised the dwarf, but Joffrey liked to think that if he himself could have one good quality, just one, it would probably be to have as much intelligence as his uncle. He was, truly, probably the one family member other than his siblings who he felt most comfortable around.

The wooden door opened and Tyrion stepped him, tipsy but not quite head-over-heels intoxicated. "Ah, beloved nephew… Where, may I ask, have you been these past few days? I've begun to think you've disappeared." He drawled, taking a seat on the chair next to the enormous vanity.

Joffrey sighed, flopping down on his bed in irritation. "Tired." Was all he answered petulantly. He tried to appear as calm as he could, but in his mind he was searching through his long, familiar list of viable excuses to explain his odd behavior.

"Indeed," Tyrion murmured, "being king is no easy feat."

The young boy didn't know why the statement bothered him so, but it did. "What do _you_ know about being in any sort of significant position?" He snarled, face partially hidden by the covers.

He watched in slightly amazement as his uncle shrugged casually- he was one of the few people who were in no way fazed by Joffrey's threats. "Nothing… Hell, when I was your age, I spent all day hunting with your uncle Jamie and reading in the grand hall."

The anger immediately flew from Joffrey and sadness took its place, causing the boy to deflate on the bed. That kind of youth sounded so sweet, so relaxing that it took all Joffrey could muster not to have a tantrum about it at that very moment. He'd had the most fun in his life yesterday, he'd made a friend for the first time ever, and he just had to go and ruin it. _It isn't fair,_ he thought desperately, _why me? Why not someone else be cursed, why me?_

"Uncle, what's it like to ride around the city in the afternoon?" He asked suddenly, voice soft and distant.

Tyrion frowned almost imperceptibly, trying not to let it show that he was analyzing the boy carefully. Joffrey was one of the hardest people to read, where his sister was like an open book. The young lad was always reclusive, despising anything to do with the public. Not that it mattered, anyway, as the people hated him with a passion. Most of their animosity towards him stemmed from his tendency to be ruthless towards commoners, but Tyrion was puzzled nonetheless because he knew his nephew was not evil. Despite popular belief, Joffrey was actually one of the most soft-spoken children he knew of. He just rarely let it show; Tyrion could only recall a couple of occasions where he witnessed Joffrey being kind, but they were true and honest moments, something only genuine compassion for others could produce.

"Well, if you go before the market opens, you can see the sun shining off the harbor." Tyrion said softly, trying as hard as he could to describe to his nephew the beauty of being free. "People say there aren't any trees, but there are. Tall oaks stretch up to the sky next to the orphanage, and all the shops look like toy soldiers lined up in a row when you stare at it from the right angle. There are tourists and farmers and travelers and… everything you could imagine, almost." Tyrion muttered gently, sitting on the bed next to Joffrey.

The blonde boy's eyes began to droop, and it was obvious he was succumbing to exhaustion. "Sansa's pretty." He yawned, and Tyrion could barely stifle a laugh.

If there was one thing the king had inherited from his secret father, it was his lack of attention span. Jamie had always been flitting from idea to idea, a string of thoughts making themselves heard. It likened him to a bouncy rain frog, hopping from stone to stone through a creek. This random outburst was one of many, and though it was amusing at times, it saddened Tyrion, for he knew that only children born of incest tended to have this type of mindset.

He'd yet to meet a child whose parents were not related by blood who had as many pivotal moments as Joffrey, or the other problems that had plagued him since birth. The tremors, darting eyes, and periodic fevers were symptoms that had affected him the most, and although Pycelle could not figure out what illness caused them, all three Lannister siblings knew that it wasn't a sickness that the problems came from, rather the lineage of the boy himself. And it saddened the young man. Neither Joffrey nor his sister and brother had chosen this life. They had been born into misery, raised in a cold palace. They were never given the chance to have a normal childhood.

"Yes, lady Sansa is quite beautiful." He murmured, daring to reach out and stroke the short blonde hair of his nephew.

But, surprisingly, Joffrey did not lash out. He simply closed his eyes and allowed himself to succumb to sleep. He was not afraid or on guard- he remembered more than his uncle gave him credit for. He remembered the hand that led him back to his room after a nightmare and the arms that tried to hold him close when he was violently ill. Those touches did not come from his mother, they came from Tyrion. The only one who bothered to stick around when everyone else had left.

By the time Tyrion had stopped talking, the young king was fast asleep. His face was free of all cares, and without the crown on, he looked like a normal, peaceful child. If the dwarf was to be honest with himself, his niece and nephews were the only things stopping him from letting whoring and drinking _completely_ consume his life. He knew the way Cersei regarded her children; an odd, toxic mixture of coldness, detachment, and some twisted form of love. It was so maddening to watch the children grow up without a proper chance at life, knowing that he could only watch from a distance as the Lannister legacy sunk its claws into fresh prey. Though Joffrey was cruel and sadistic as a ruler, sometimes Tyrion didn't know if he could blame him. If what Varys said was true, that everyone was a product of their surroundings, then Joffrey was not nearly totally at fault. _Place a child in a man's shoes and this is what you get,_ he mused sadly to himself.

Sighing, Tyrion took one last glance at his nephew before hopping off the bed and heading for the door. As he walked out into the hall, he was so consumed in his own thoughts that he didn't notice where he was going and found himself bumping into Sansa Stark, who appeared to be wandering the castle aimlessly.

"Oh! My apologies, my lord, I did not see you there." The young girl exclaimed, straightening the outside of her dress.

Tyrion smirked, bowing slightly. "Do not worry, my lady, I am quite easy to miss."

Sansa blushed slightly as she tried to keep the smile off her face. Tyrion was such a stark contrast to the rest of the Lannister family, whom she feared with all her heart. The short man was always finding ways to make light of dark situations.

"May I help you find something, my dear? You seem lost." He offered, noticing her clear indecisiveness.

"Thank you, but I was just going out to walk. If you see my sister, though, could you please tell her that I was looking for her earlier?" Sansa asked, quickly making up an excuse to get Tyrion on his way. No one could know that she was searching for the king, it would raise too many questions.

The lord nodded kindly. "Of course. Good day, my lady."

"Good day, my lord."

Sansa waited until Tyrion was out of sight before resuming her journey to Joffrey's chambers. The truth was that she had been terrified for these past few days. Ever since the incident in the courtyard, Joffrey had remained out of sight and out of earshot. The look on his face after the event was still burned into her memory; fear and disappointment masking his features before he ran out. Despite his cruel reputation, they had become friends. Despite his place as king, they had attempted to act as children. And all of this happened because, inadvertently, Sansa had been exposed to the part of him that he so desperately wanted rid of. The part of him that, in her eyes, only served to make him more extraordinary.

People said he was evil, they talked about his complete lack of mercy. But even though the girl knew of this, as time passed it became harder for her to believe it. He could have killed her that day, but he didn't. He could have tortured her out of fear or anger, but he didn't. There were so many things she was _sure_ he would do to her and her family when she found out about his magic, but he never did. That didn't mean she wasn't still wary- one always had to be on guard in westeros, of course- but she no longer feared him in a life-or-death kind of manner. She was his first ever friend (something she still couldn't believe), and genuinely liked his company. When they were around each other, she felt… right. SHe didn't know why it made her happy just to watch him and Arya argue trivially about small things, she didn't know why it made her happy to watch him concentrate on that apple tree in the sunlight, concentrating so hard that the pink tip of his tongue stuck slightly out of the corner of his mouth, she didn't know why he made her laugh but he did.

Now, though, it seemed like all of that was about to vanish. It felt wrong, it felt cold and lonely to try to forget about their friendship even though it had only been a few days. There was more to him than what he seemed, she was convinced. And although she'd spent most of her life as the 'proper' one, the princess whose only wish was to be married and bear children, the passive, quiet girl who scolded her younger sister for speaking out, she knew she had to do something before Joffrey destroyed himself.


	8. Chapter 8: The Beach

**Hello! Sorry for the late update- anyways, a lot will be revealed emotion wise in this chapter, so buckle up! Also, if any of you have watched disney's latest movie 'Moana' you will be able to see how it vaguely relates to this story! I started drafting this like two years ago, way before it came out, so before any of you ask the question, no, i did not copy anything from the movie. However, it is so lovely to have a legit production that can in some ways coincide with your own work! The song 'How Far I'll Go' is so something I think Joffrey would sing (if GoT was a musical). Please check it out and try to imagine it! Like is it me, or is this song made for this story? Anyways, enjoy! Reviews are** **welcome** **! (Disclaimer: I do not own disney or Moana or Game of Thrones).**

Link to song: watch?v=34kAdYeZABw

The young king looked out on the sea from his bedroom window, the top of the glittering blue horizon just barely visible from his stone-rimmed window. He sighed heavily, leaning against the cool wall. He hadn't the strength or energy to restrain his thoughts lately. _Who am I fooling?_ He thought miserably, _I can never change. No matter how hard I try, I will always be pulled to the water. The ocean has stolen me away from my siblings, my kingdom… my friend._ Sansa had crossed his mind often lately- he couldn't get her face out of his head. _Her annoying beautiful face,_ he mused.

The ocean crashed against the shore in the distance, the sound echoing softly across his chambers as he watched. _Why did you choose me? What am I supposed to do?_ He wondered to himself, _there must be a reason. But why? Why did you have to pick me?_

The sweet sensation of the waves tickling his skin drifted through in his memories, taking him back to that fateful day at the beach when his mother had banned him from acknowledging his powers. Before the screaming, before the rules, before the loneliness… It was good, it was _right._ That feeling of belonging when the waves wrapped him up was something he could never replicate. It was like a calling, a gentle reminder that no matter what the outside world thought of him, he would always belong in the tide. But it wasn't a random act of choosing, no… He felt a force behind it, something driving him with his abilities. And while some part of the boy knew had a purpose to fulfill, the rest of him was buried under years of fear and doubt, unable to see beyond anything more.

"You should go, you know."

Joffrey swore his heart skipped a beat when the voice interrupted the silence, causing him to whirl around and draw his sword, only to come face to face with Sansa.

The young girl gasped in fright and backed up, away from the pointy edge of the weapon. Her eyes were wide and her breathing was rapid. _I do have a knack for terrifying people,_ the young king thought flatly.

"How did you get past the guards?" He spoke at last, lowering his sword slowly before tossing it aside on the floor.

Sansa smoothed her skirts out with shaky hands, and though it was obvious he had scared her, she again refused to leave. "I snuck through the maid's hall." She answered.

 _This girl just doesn't quit, does she?_ Joffrey frowned, before crossing his arms before turning away. "You shouldn't be here," he said quietly, "people will talk."

"Let them talk," Sansa hushed, walking to stand beside him at the window's edge. "Since when do we care what others say?"

The blonde boy snickered coldly, resentment clear in his tone. "We're royalty. All we do is care what others think."

The young girl pursed her lips and clasped her cold hands together. It was technically true- growing up noble was 50% leadership, 50% public appearance, her septa used to say when she and Arya attended the dreaded etiquette lessons. But ever since she stepped onto King's Landing, her pride and vanity had slowly started to fall away in thin sheets, other matters quickly taking priority over rumors. This is a risk I have to take, she thought determinedly.

Ever so slowly and ever so lightly, she laid a snow white hand on Joffrey's arm. "I will take you to the sea, if you'd want that." She said, trying to keep the shaking out of her voice, "And like everything else we discuss, I will never tell a soul."

Joffrey had to keep his jaw from dropping to the floor. Did she really just say that? _No, I must've heard wrong,_ he thought in disbelief, _no one would be willing to sacrifice the possibility of others knowing just to indulge me. Especially with something so… freakish._ The idea was foreign and strange, like new boots being worn for the first time, and his cobalt blue eyes widened at her somber expression. She was serious about it.

It was such a tantalizing offer, such a wonderfully tempting notion to entertain, but reality quickly crashed down on the king and he shook his head vehemently, brushing her hand off his arm. "No. Absolutely not. It's too risky, others could see, and…" he trailed off, Sansa looking to him expectantly. _And you'll see me for who I really am,_ he finished inwardly, feeling his short-lived happiness wilt like a snow-covered flower.

"And what?" Sansa pressed.

"We agreed to never speak of this!" Joffrey snapped suddenly, her resiliency irritating him, "Consider it foolish of me to even encourage something so _stupid!"_

"It is not 'stupid' if you're hiding away because of it!" Sansa's voice rose, frustration evident in her eyes. The size of his ego was enormous, why couldn't he see that she was trying to help her? What was he so afraid of?

"You can't talk to me like this, I am THE KING!" He shrieked, face red in anger and heart beating fast.

"YOU ARE MY FRIEND!" Sansa's roar rose above his own, silencing the argument once and for all. Joffrey stared at her in shock, for no one had ever stood up to him like that in his entire life. All he could do was stand dumbfounded as she breathed hard before him, fiery red hair matching her personality.

"You are my friend," she managed to utter, "and I will not stand by and watch you fade away. King or not, I refuse it."

Fear dropped into her stomach like an iron mallet. What the bloody hell was wrong with her that she couldn't control her temper? Not only had she challenged his reasoning, but she had raised her voice to the _protector of the realm._ For her offenses, she should've been dead thrice over. He had every right to hang or behead or impose any type of torment on her he wished, because she had openly refused to obey him. _I refused the king,_ she thought in shock, _I've committed treason._

No words could describe what she felt when Joffrey spoke, just barely above a whisper, "yes."

Her eyes flew open, not realizing she had closed them in fear. "What?" She breathed, trying to grasp what was happening.

"Yes, I… I will go with you to the bay." He murmured, intense gaze never leaving her.

And in that cold, lonely room, two smiles began to spread.

* * *

The crickets were chirping loudly as she hurried through the darkness. The nightingale birds native to the south sung their sweet songs, and somewhere in the distance an owl was cooing. Sansa tried to make as little noise possible as she slipped through the tall grass that grew on the outskirts of the palace. Looking over her shoulder, she was constantly on alert for guards after she'd snuck out of her chambers. She still couldn't believe her luck- she had managed to creep down the grand hallway, past three sleeping servants, out the back stable door and over the stone wall of the courtyard without a peep.

"You're quick for a girl."

Sansa spun around quickly, spear in hand, ready to fight. But as soon as she saw who it was, she smiled and sheathed her weapon. "You are, too. For a _boy._ " Her grin widened as Joffrey punched her playfully in the arm before running ahead into the woods.

She huffed in mock annoyance before following him in the enveloping darkness, guided only by the pale moonlight.

The path from the castle to the sea was not a long one; it was no more than two miles at best, Sansa would gather from the distance they ran alone. The path through the wooded area was beaten down and slightly leveled, hidden partially by leaves, but Sansa could tell Joffrey had cut through this way more than once. She imagined how scary it would be to be so young, probably no more than ten or eleven years old when he started, climbing out of your bedroom window and running through wilderness at night all by yourself. _I certainly couldn't have done it,_ she thought to herself, remembering that she was always the 'scaredy- cat' of her family.

Rob would scare her with stories of the white walkers, who were said to roam winterfell at night and devour human children. Arya's eyes would shine with wonder at the aspect of such fairy tale creatures being real, but Sansa would cry and hide in her mother's skirts. For the longest time, she truly believed that once they closed the doors to their castle and the sun fell below the horizon, the ice monsters would come out and search for the poor fools who were still out and about.

 _But Joffrey had to do it all alone,_ she thought somberly, _he couldn't hide in his mother's skirts when he got scared, he couldn't pull the covers up over his head and wake up to a loving family._ Though Sansa knew this wasn't an excuse for his gruesome deeds, she couldn't help but feel sorry for the king and the life he'd quietly endured.

Sooner than later, the trees began to thin out and the forest faded away into open sky. The dirt and grass beneath their feet morphed into sand, and they found themselves trying to catch their breath on the edge of a deserted beach. Tall, jagged rocks bordered the east and west sides of the shore, and feather reeds blew softly in the night breeze from the crevices in the stone.

"It's beautiful," Sansa breathed, looking out onto the moonlit waves. It truly was- the tide lapped gently at the sand, and the sea was calm for the night. The waves were not high at all, falling gently with a soothing swoosh.

"I used to come here often when I was young." Joffrey stated wistfully, eyes filled with an emotion she couldn't quite recognize. He was staring off into the southern horizon, as if searching for something that was supposed to be there but wasn't. "I came to escape from my mother… pathetic, isn't it?" He spat, bitterness evident in his tone.

Sansa shook her head calmly, trying to show her understanding. "Not really… I don't mean to offend, but the queen doesn't seem…" Sansa sighed, searching for words, "her grace does not strike me as the most loving mother."

She half expected Joffrey to get irritated or offended, but instead he only barked out a cold, harsh laugh. "Then it's more obvious than I thought. My mother…" He began, but eventually trailed off. How could he even begin to explain it to her? He couldn't. No one would ever understand unless they had witnessed it themselves. But hearing the words 'your mother' struck a chord in the young king that he wouldn't have suspected. He never thought of Cersei as a mother figure- at least, not since that fateful day at the beach. She was more of a keeper, a cold mistress who floated amongst the halls of the castle, furthering his doom to the throne. She did not show him any genuine affection, in fact, none at all unless there was a spectacle.

"So, are you going to show me?" Sansa broke the quiet.

Joffrey turned to frown at her, confused. "Show you what?"

The red haired girl chuckled, folding her arms. "Well, I didn't bring you all the way out here for nothing. Go, do what you must- I'd love to see some magic."

Joffrey balked slightly at her bluntness, mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. She _wanted_ to see his powers? No one had ever asked him such a thing before, and so he didn't know how to respond. In fact, it was always the opposite. It was always Cersei scolding him, commanding him to stop it, to hide it. No one had ever asked for him to show it. And now, standing at the edge of the beach, he didn't even know what was supposed to happen. Just being in the presence of the ocean had lifted a huge weight off his shoulders, but he felt that something else would occur and that this night was far from over.

"I… I don't… Y-you wouldn't want to see, trust me." Joffrey stuttered, cheeks blushing as he felt like a fool.

"Yes, I do."

"No, you don't."

" _Yes,_ I do."

" _No,_ you don't."

Sansa huffed, putting her hands on her hips. "We both have siblings, Joffrey, we could do this all night. Now are you gonna show me or am I going to have to throw myself into the waves to watch you save me?"

Joffrey couldn't help the laugh that escaped him, and he covered his mouth with his hand in an effort to mask his smile at such a childish statement.

"... I understand if you don't want to talk about it," Sansa began seriously, "but I really do want to know. I want to know what it's like, I want you to tell me how it feels and how it sounds and show me how it looks… I want to try to understand. Please?"

Amazement was the only thing that could describe the king's features as he looked at Sansa, almost in disbelief, before he allowed a slow smile to spread across his face.


	9. Chapter 9: Loving

**Hello everyone! So sorry for the unexpected hiatus- I needed some time to think about where this story was going. However, after a few sleepless nights and multiple cups of coffee, I've come up with some plausible ideas :) Please let me know what you think in the review section- I value those comments more than you know! Leave any ideas about the characters or plot that you like, and I will gladly try to incorporate them in my next chapter. Enjoy!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own GoT**

"How do you make it glow like that?" Sansa breathed, watching in awe as a silky sea blue ribbon of water slithered up and down Joffrey's arm, pulsating a soft blue light that illuminated both their faces.

"I don't know. It's a thought, and then… it is." He struggled to explain the extents of his power, not quite knowing himself. The two had been on the beach for at least an hour, and at first Joffrey was convinced it was all some strange dream. There was no way he'd reveal his magic at will, let alone someone be interested in it in a positive way. It couldn't be true… Could it? At first he was reluctant about showing Sansa anything, fear and doubt weighing down his conscience. Almost every decision he made since he was a boy was based on whether or not he could conceal his oddity; he didn't know how to respond when someone actually _wanted_ to be a part of it.

But Sansa Stark was honest and gentle, her doe-like eyes holding no contempt. And although it went against his better judgment, went against _everything,_ really, he showed her. He dropped the heavy burden he'd been carrying for just a moment when the water came to caress him, and it was as if every pain or care had been washed away with the tide. The waves penetrated his very essence, from his skin right down to the center of his bones. He could _feel_ it, he could feel each individual droplet, every single inch of liquid in every single dimension. It soothed and calmed him, it let him forget and be at peace. Just for a short time, though. Only for a bit.

He rose waves and made whirlpools, carved sculptures out of the tide and shaped crystals from the water. He levitated shapes of aqua straight from the sea, ranging in anything from a clear, shimmering castle, to a watery, glowing blue stallion.

Sansa could only gasp in awe at each movement and flicker, only cover her mouth with her hand in amazement at the beauty of such magic. She was speechless. No words could leave her mouth because all that captivated her was the way the ocean seemed to bow down to this boy her age, the way the waves obeyed every command Joffrey gave them. She was not at all knowledgeable when it came to magic- her father told them it was the figment of children's imaginations, and her mother told them it was heresy. But none of the things she'd ever heard being used to describe power were true when it came to Joffrey. It wasn't heresy, it was _right._ It wasn't scary, it was _magnificent._ The thought of anyone trying to destroy such beauty almost made her want to cry- how could anyone treat such a talent like a curse? How could anyone see anything other than light and grandeur in this?

"You should know, my lady, that if you stare any harder your eyes may well pop from your head." Joffrey interrupted her train of thought, sprinkling a little seawater on her cheeks.

Sansa laughed softly as she flicked away the drops, blushing slightly. "How can I not marvel at it? It's wonderful!"

Joffrey paused, looking to her as if she'd grown an extra limb. "It… It is?"

"Of course!" Sansa exclaimed, ruby lips in a smile, "It's the most spectacular thing I've ever seen in my life! I could sit here all day and watch you do this."

The young king was so awestruck and speechless, so at a loss for how to respond, that his focus shifted from holding the wave up above them and they soon found themselves drenched in knee-deep waves.

"Sansa!" Joffrey shot out of the water gasping, eyes frantic as he helped her out of the water. Her gown was plastered to her body and her red hair glistened in strands, beads of ocean falling from her eyelashes. She looked like an angel straight out of a dream. And he'd just ruined it by soaking them both.

"I'm so sorry, my lady, I-I knew this was a terrible idea, here let's go back and dry off-"

But Joffrey couldn't finish his sentence as Sansa pressed her lips to his, sealing them in a kiss.

Blankness.

Not a single thought entered Joffrey's head. All things, words and ideas, were silenced by that one kiss.

And gods, that single act said so much. It said, 'I forgive you.'. I forgive you for hurting me at the beginning and for everything you've ever done. It said, 'You don't have to do this on your own, I will help you.'. I will help you be kinder and balanced and patient. I will carry one of the many things life has put upon you so you can rest easier. You have someone to listen to you when you speak. It said, 'Don't be afraid.'. Don't be afraid of me turning you away, for we are past that point. Don't be afraid of what others will think, for life is much too short for that. Don't be afraid of the future, for although it hasn't happened yet, I will be there with you when it does. It said, 'I've finally found you.'. Though we've recently crossed paths, I know you're who I was looking for. Without knowing, I've been searching for you. Without realizing, I've been calling for you. We _are_ meant to be a team. We _are_ supposed to be here. The fates brought us to where we are for a reason.

It said, 'I think I love you.'. I think I love you, though I'm not quite sure what that is, I _know_ I care about you. I know I am willing to wait for you if you are willing to wait for me.

When they parted it was slow and sweet, neither of them opening their eyes right at first. Sansa's eyelids fluttered open to see a magnificent sight, perhaps even more magnificent than the magic of the ocean. She saw Joffrey's smiling face. It was like he was a completely different person- he was smiling, honest and genuinely smiling. And she gazed intently at it, for she had never seen him smile truthfully before. His smile was a toothy grin, green-blue eyes bright and full of life. He had dimples, terribly sweet ones that made his cheeks look softer and his button nose stand out. He had freckles, something she didn't notice before. Four of them, in fact, in a little line across the bridge of his nose. His head was cocked slightly to the left, as if he was admiring a work of art and had to lean a little to see it in just the perfect light.

"Do you trust me, Sansa?" He whispered lowly into the night, eyes silently begging for an answer.

"Yes," she breathed, "do you trust _me?"_

"With my life." He murmured, and they kissed again. And again. And again, until they were both panting for breath and the sweet aroma of lust was beginning to seep into the air between them.

* * *

"I am not yet wed." Sansa said in a hushed tone as they ran back to the palace, hands clasping one another's in an unconsciously formed grip.

"Neither am I." Joffrey replied, helping her over a rocky slope as they approached the castle wall.

They climbed up swiftly and silently, minding the crumbling stones that had begun to erode with time. They touched the ground on the other side as quietly as they could, hopping on light feet past the sleeping guards and the snoring kitchen maids. Joffrey opened the wooden doors to the stairwell as carefully as he could, but it still emitted a loud creak. The two froze, looking around for any sign of somebody who heard. When the coast looked clear, they immediately dashed up the stairs and down the main hall, torches whizzing by in golden dots as they whisked one another along.

They slipped into Joffrey's chambers unnoticed, and collapsed on his bed in exhaustion as soon as the doors were closed.

Sansa turned her head to look at the king, eyes still smiling as she climbed further onto the bed, pulling him with her. Any part of her that was reluctant to trust him before was gone. Something happened back at the beach- while they were kissing amidst the waves, a line that once existed had dissolved and a barrier was moved. Perhaps it was the line that separated tradition from destiny- Sansa did not know.

Their lips crashed together again, hands feeling out each nook of the other's bodies. Joffrey broke away abruptly, looking the northern girl straight in the eyes. "Are you sure you want this, my lady?" he whispered almost nervously, afraid of the answer.

The fact that he valued her consent and her input so much touched the girl, and she nodded honestly. "Yes," she whispered, "I'm sure."

They both lost their virginity that night with the scent of the ocean caressing their every move. Neither of them had a clue as to what they would come morning, but they didn't care. The past was history, the future did not yet exist, and the present was far too lovely to let go of.


	10. Chapter 10

**Hello everybody! So sorry for the long wait... Here is another chapter! (I will be putting up polls soon to see what you think of me incorporating Danny and Viserys in the story- I'll have you know that since I have a penchant for finding the good in villain characters, Viserys is a bit different in my stories). Comment and let me know what you think!**

Sansa knew now. It had taken her a while, but laying in that bed next to him at the break of dawn, she finally _knew_ it was true. She was in love with Joffrey. One of the cruelest, coldest, most sadistic kings there ever was, and she was head over heels in love with him. She feared him at first, and even now, at times, she still did. She knew he'd killed people. She knew he could have her head if he wanted, she knew he was unpredictable. She knew all this, yet she loved him still. _I must've gone mad,_ she thought briefly, _what will everyone think? Of course our match was arranged, but how will father react when he sees that I've fallen for a hated ruler? He doesn't know the truth, though… nobody does._

She stared at the sleeping boy next to her- Joffrey's head lay on her breast, eyes closed and face peaceful. His short blonde hair was starting to grow out in wisps, and they hung in thin waves about his button nose and sharp, pale cheeks. Unable to resist, Sansa leaned over and pressed a kiss to his temple lazily, causing him to stir happily in his sleep. Truth be told, she still couldn't believe all that had happened last night. She was waiting for it all to just be some wonderful, far fetched dream. But it was real.

Doubts and fears flitted across her mind momentarily as she wondered how they would keep their affairs secret from the world until their wedding day. It was unbecoming of a king to have relations before marriage, but for a woman it was simply damning. _He'd understand that, though,_ Sansa thought dreamily, _he understands so much more than what he lets the world believe._

"Are you happy, my lady?"

Sansa smiled before rolling over to face the now awake king. "Quite. Are you happy, my king?"

The boy was silent for a moment, face deep in thought. And then, the eldest Baratheon spoke the words he never believed he'd utter to anyone. "I am not your king. For you, I will always just be Joffrey."

Sansa's eyes widened slightly as she comprehended what he had said. She knew that promises were not always kept, especially in king's landing and even more so for the royal family. They didn't _have_ to promise anyone anything, and so they rarely did. But somehow she knew that his promise was just as true as the sun rising in the east. It would seem foolish for anyone else to believe just by hearing it- one would have to be there, watch his lips and see the seriousness in his eyes to know.

Sansa smiled and pressed her lips to his gleefully. She was in love with the most misunderstood, sadistic tyrant in the world, and she just _didn't care._

* * *

There was no going back, Joffrey knew that now. The very second he'd opened his eyes that morning, he knew he'd sealed his fate with Sansa. There was no longer the option of forgetting anything that ever happened. They were beyond that now, for better or for worse. And, truth be told, the young king was absolutely _terrified._ It was something he'd take to the grave, of course. No one could know he was such a coward about this- but deep down, he was scared. Up until last week, he'd never had a friend before. And now? Now he was in love.

Not infatuated, not intrigued, _in love._ He wasn't quite sure what love was, considering he'd never felt it before, but he knew it was different than anything he experienced with any other girl. The concubines his uncle escorted up and down the halls and the painted whores his mother had sent him a few times were a sight to behold, but that was _all_ they were. Pretty girls. Never before had anyone been able to evoke such a feeling in him, and it was intimidating. He'd expected to feel the same sadistic pleasure with Sansa, expected to take delight in watching her suffer like he had the few times before with the whores sent to his chambers. But never once had any of those feelings crossed his mind since he met her. The thought of causing Sansa any pain at all now sickened him. Something he once took part in now felt wrong, revolting. Looking back on it now, Joffrey starts to think that Sansa has opened his eyes to what he was really taking pleasure in. He didn't take pleasure in watching people in pain. He took pleasure in watching innocence burn, watching undeserving people suffer because that was what happened to him so long ago. All this time he was simply reliving his past but to someone else, hoping that somehow he could pass the pain on to them and live with it no longer.

He didn't know what it was about the girl, but somehow she'd managed to peel away years of bitterness and resentment from his heart without a second glance. She'd managed to do in _two weeks_ what _hundreds_ of others had been trying his whole life. She'd made him open up. She'd taken his comforting facade of sadism and dominance and tossed it aside like it was nothing. She didn't shy away from his threats or cruelty. She looked his demons straight on, and they dissolved like dust in the wind.

He felt free even though he knew he was still very much trapped. He felt loved, even though his own mother had rejected him as a child. He felt happy, even though his whole life had been years of cold, lonely misery with the occasional bright moments sprinkled in. and he could only hope Sansa felt the same. Curse or no curse, there was no going back on this now.

* * *

The two never left one another's side the whole day, taking walks in the garden and strolls through the palace. Joffrey never set foot into the throne room, and instead spent his time learning about the north, listening to stories Sansa would tell of the magnificent weirwood trees and the wild direwolves. It felt good to imagine oneself as far away from King's Landing as possible, towering walls of ice and snow separating him from the world he'd grown to loathe.

The night was growing nearer as the pair were sitting together silently in the great hall before the fireplace, enjoying one another's company in soothing quiet. That was another surprising thing they'd discovered about each other; they did not have to engage in the exhausting activity of small talk. They could spend hours in blissful silence, no words exchanged and be just as content to be in the presence of the other. Sansa absentmindedly threaded a half-finished tapestry whilst Joffrey was beginning to doze off on the settee. They were in a sort of daze from the evening before, the cares of the present not quite sinking in yet.

"Have you ever heard much about the Targaryens?" Sansa asked suddenly, breaking the quiet.

Joffrey frowned as he sat up a little straighter. "You mean the mad king?" He asked, confused.

Sansa shook her head, eyes lost in wonder. "No… Their dragons, their magic… Arya was telling me stories, last night, that haven't left my mind. Dragons the size of castles, princes and princesses who could ride them… Some say that Targaryens were even immune to fire." She recounted, remembering her sister go on about Visenya, the legendary warrior who rode her dragon into battle.

Joffrey scoffed, half smiling. "You don't really believe that, do you? Those tales were told five hundred years ago. It's probably all nonsense."

"I thought magic was nonsense until I met you." Sansa pointed out, and Joffrey looked up abruptly at that. Not knowing whether to feel offended or flattered, he simply cleared his throat and looked at his feet.

"I suppose anything could be possible." He muttered under his breath, before speaking up. "But we needn't worry about that. The Targaryens are gone now… At least, most of them are."

Sansa was about to speak when a guard stepped in from the corridor, hesitantly announcing his message. "Her grace has requested your presence at dinner, my king, as well as the lady stark's."

Joffrey sat up with abandon, rubbing his eyes irritatedly. _What does the witch want now?_ He thought bitterly. Then his heart froze. Could she have found out that he exposed his secret? Evidently, Sansa was thinking the same thing because her fearful eyes locked contact with his, and they both gulped nervously.

"Tell my mother to wait and we shall be there." Joffrey replied, voice gaining back some of it's royal tone. He couldn't show fear in front of anyone, even a servant. It would arouse suspicion.

As soon as the guard had left, Sansa stood up and begun to pace nervously. "Do you think she knows?" She asked worriedly, "Do you think she knows that I know?"

Joffrey frowned, thinking of all the possibilities of what could happen if Cersei found out he'd told someone. She had eyes everywhere, strings that only she could pull. If she knew of his and Sansa's relationship, there was no telling what awful things could happen. And that was just within the Lannister circle. If word somehow reached the people that their king was in the possession of magic, their family would almost certainly be ambushed. The other Houses would rally against them, and he himself would surely be killed. And Sansa… she would not survive. Cersei was like a lion with a piece of meat when it came to her eldest son- possessive, ruthless, and dangerous. She would never give up her grip on Joffrey, and merely the thought of someone else influencing him would drive her mad with rage.

"She probably just wants to scare us. You mustn't let her intimidate you, she will know if you are frightened. We will sit through dinner and if she mentions anything, we will deny it." He planned aloud, polishing his crown before placing it atop his head. It felt heavy and cold, the metal suffocating. Yet millions had died in the name of this piece of metal.

"What if she has proof? What if one of her spies was there when we bed? What if-" Sansa began to panic, but Joffrey gripped her shoulders tightly with that unpredictable strength that he had.

"No matter what happens, she _will_ know if we act strangely. We must pretend as if nothing has happened. You must answer like a princess, you mustn't show fear and you have to follow my lead. Do you trust me, my lady?" Joffrey asked, staring deeply into her icy blue eyes.

Although nervous, Sansa smiled hesitantly. "Not lady… to you I will always just be Sansa." She said, voice just barely above a whisper.


	11. Chapter 11

**_Hello! Here it is, everybody, my favorite sibling duo, the Targaryens are entering the story! Please let me know in the poll I have open if you want to continue to see them in the plotline. Reviews are love!_**

 _Across the Narrow Sea:_

Daenerys Targaryen basked in the early morning light coming through the palace windows that morning, allowing the sun to fall on her face and warm her skin. She knew she'd only have a few more days like this to herself before everything changed. Before she'd wed the Khal. Before she committed her life to a man she'd never met, one she'd heard terrifying things about.

She'd talked to Illyrio for years about how to get her and her brother home, and in hindsight she'd known this day would come for a while. But it still felt surreal. Some days she would get so nervous, she'd faint and the maids would carry her back to her chambers. Some days she had serious second thoughts, only minutes away from going back on her word. But then she saw Viserys, and kept silent so all could go smoothly.

She remembers her brother when he was still himself; how he used to carry her through the streets of Pentos and the free cities, looking for an inn to shelter them from the night. They were exiles, homeless refugees who were constantly on the run, yet he still managed to get her a birthday present each and every year. Something small, of course, like a beautiful stone or even the cloth doll he'd made for her himself the year she turned fourteen. She remembers how he dyed their hair black before entering Asshai for the brief period they stayed there, not wanting to be spotted by anyone who remembered the signature Targaryen trait of silver blonde hair. He used to think like that, think rationally.

And then, slowly but surely, it began to slip away. He started seeing terrifying, awful things that weren't really there. They called them 'the monsters', as the hallucinations never revealed their name. It scared Daenerys more than anything, watching her only living family member cower and scream in fear at some invisible force around the room. Only a year after the monsters appeared, his plans became less stable. He'd stop bartering for food and start stealing it, he'd have delusions of grandeur and expect them to come true, eyes holding a wild, manic look that frightened Daenerys terribly. It frightened him, too. Then came the dragon. It was different than the monsters, as it came through Viserys directly. Dany remembers the first night it showed itself. They were talking about dreams of the future, what songs they'd play in the throneroom when they'd hold dances and balls. And then, it happened.

"You dare order me about, you bitch!" He snapped, voice high and eyes dangerous. Daenery's heart dropped to the floor in shock. He'd never, _ever_ spoken to her like that in her entire life. He'd always treated her like a princess, loved her and treasured her like she was the most beautiful thing in the world. It was so random, so out of the blue that it nearly knocked the wind out of her. "Now you've woken the dragon!" He cried, and proceeded to slap her, knocking her to the ground. She cried while he rambled on nonsensically, before falling asleep on the floor. When he awoke the next morning, he had no idea what happened. At first Dany didn't believe him, thought he was playing a cruel joke on her and backed away. But then he saw the bruises on her arm and asked how he got there. Her stare was his answer. And then he wept. Daenerys had never seen her brother cry before, and that scared her more than anything. More than the monsters, even more than the dragon. They held each other as he begged her for forgiveness. " _Dany, I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! It couldn't have been me, I would never! Say it wasn't me, gods, please, say it wasn't me! I don't remember anything, I swear, Dany, I love you, I would never!"_ She believed him. She knew it was the truth. Over the past few years, 'the dragon' had been woken numerous times, and every time it happened he'd fall into that strange sleep, no matter where he was. And when he woke, he had no memory of his actions or his words. She could see how it scared him, that gap of missing time haunted him. From then on, the roles were reversed.

Daenerys balanced the act of guiding her brother safely through life while never directly giving orders. She balanced keeping him out of harm's way whilst trying to get them home, back to Kings Landing from which they fled so long ago. She consulted merchants and lords, innkeepers and even pirates to find a roof over their heads, to keep them safe. All too often when Viserys tried to get involved with negotiating, he'd say or do something so odd that it ended in violence against him. Every night was a uncertainty until they met master Illyrio. To this day, Dany is convinced it was a gift from the gods that they found him, stumbling through the streets of Pentos homeless, Viserys cradling his left arm which he'd broken after walking into the wrong house, convinced it was the inn they were staying at. The groundskeeper had nearly beaten him to death before Daenerys saw and rushed over, begging for her brother's life whilst trying to explain the situation to him.

For two years now, Illyrio had let them stay in his palace, giving them food, clothing and shelter. But that could only keep for so long, Daenerys knew, and her brother was getting worse. They slept in the same bed, as Viserys was terrified of the monsters coming to haunt him while he was alone. He'd almost forgotten altogether about being king, and just the other day, when Daenerys asked him what the first thing he would do as king be, he'd replied; " _I don't want to be king anymore."_ When she asked him why, he'd simply said that if he ruled, the monsters would never leave him in peace. She had no idea what that meant, but decided not to question it. She knew he could never rule now, not in this mindset. Perhaps years ago… But that was no longer her concern. Her only hope now was that becoming Khaleesi would give them security, a place to stay and people to protect them. The world, as she knew all too well, was not kind to people like her brother. People who lived in their own world, who drifted through life like ghosts tethered to a string. One thought that gave her hope was that when they had enough power and reached Westeros, they would consult in the best maesters and healers in the world to find a cure for her brother. To bring him the peace he'd been denied for so long now. His eyes had permanent dark circles beneath them from days of no sleep, manic highs and depressing lows.

"Daenerys?"

The youngest Targaryen was shaken from her thoughts and brought back to the present as she heard her name being called. She turned around from the balcony to see Viserys rising from sleep, sitting up in bed as he stretched. "What are you doing up so early?" He asked, voice rough from sleep. His silver blonde hair was sticking out in all directions, mused from tossing and turning amongst the pillows.

She walked back over to him, sitting down on the bed. "Just enjoying the sunlight. It's beautiful out." She replied.

"I had the most wonderful dream last night." He spoke wistfully, a small smile coming to his lips.

Daenerys smiled. A nice dream. Anything nice these days was beautiful to her, since they came so rare, it didn't matter how small. "What did you dream?" She prompted with a gentle grin, coming to rest next to him on the bed.

"I dreamt of dragons. There were hundreds of them- most were small, but we were riding the biggest one of all. It was… red, a brilliant red, and its wings were the size of the tallest columns." He recalled, staring at the ceiling as if he could will the dream into reality.

"Mmh… We were riding it, yes? Were we flying?" She asked him.

He turned to her, light blue eyes crinkling in the corners as he grinned. "So high we could touch the clouds."

Dany smiled, laying her head down on his chest. "That sounds amazing." She replied. It did. She herself had often wondered about dragons, the supposedly terrifying, beautiful creatures that had died many years ago. A part of her, however, did not believe they were truly gone. It didn't fit right in her mind. _Surely as long as there are Targaryens alive, there must be dragons somewhere out there. Even if there are only two people who share blood with them._

"When we get to the Red Keep, I shall find you the best dragon there is, and I will give it to you on one condition." Viserys spoke seriously, looking down at his sister who lay on his left side.

"What condition is that?" She asked, humoring him.

He looked at her and his seriousness dissolved into a toothy grin, "I get to ride it once to impress a lady."

Daenerys laughed, tossing a pillow at her brother who chuckled as it hit his face. "No fair! If you give it to me, then it is not a courtship gem you can use to woo some poor woman!"

He pursed his lips in thought, shoving the pillow off his shoulder before looking back to her. "Fine. I suppose we'll just have to share her then."

Daenerys frowned in confusion, looking at her older brother. "Her? How do you know it's a girl?"

"Her name is Visenya. She told me in my dream." He replied nonchalantly, as if it was common knowledge. "And when we speak of her, we'll have to talk in Valyrian so no one else can hear about her and lock her in chains."

"That's not fair, either! Your Valyrian is far better than mine." Daenerys protested, forgetting that they were having a legitimate conversation about a creature that wasn't even real. It was true, her brother had managed to maintain his knowledge of their mother tongue fluently throughout the years.

"I tried to teach you when we were younger, but you were too stubborn," He reasoned, poking at her arm, "always wandering off and scaring the shit out of me. You were my own little _sambar._ " He smirked.

"Viserys!" She groaned, hating when he called her names in their language that she didn't know.

"Relax, it means cloud." He murmured, hiding his face in the pillow.

"Cloud? How was I a cloud?" She asked, confused.

"Because you'd always manage to float away whenever I took my eyes off of you." He said, voice slightly muffled in the pillow.

Daenerys smiled, pulling the covers over them both. One more day of normal, before everything changes forever, she thought. She laid her head back down on the pillow, face buried in her brother's platinum hair. "Nyke ēdrugī. Ivestragī īlva ēdrugon mirri tolī." She whispered. His soft snores were her only reply. One more day. Just one more.


	12. Chapter 12

**Hello everyone! I currently have a poll up in my bio where you can vote on whether or not you want to see more of Daenerys and Viserys in the coming chapters! Please vote and enjoy!**

"Look at you! You're gorgeous! My beautiful little sister." Viserys said happily, smiling as he stood behind her, braiding intricate designs with her hair.

It was the day she'd wed the Khal, and Illyrio had given her the dress she'd wear to the ceremony. Viserys had insisted on doing her hair, although multiple times throughout the day he'd asked why she was getting so dressed up. His tired, glazed eyes only made her more determined to carry out the forced a smile for him, watching as he pinned a final clasp in her silver blonde hair.

"Do you like it?" He asked, voice hopeful as he showed her the braid in the mirror.

Daenerys looked to her older brother with adoration and love, kissing him lightly on the cheek. "It's beautiful." She responded genuinely, admiring it.

Viserys beamed like they'd just regained the throne, lighting up like a candle. "Dany, did you see our father just walk through the doorway?" He asked suddenly, eyes darting to an invisible figure in the corner of the room. Hallucinations.

She swallowed her sadness like always. "No, brother, our father died a long time ago. Your mind is only tricking you." She explained, letting him grab her hand like he always did when he felt uneasy.

"A-a-are you sure? He was just there-"

"Your grace! Khal Drogo has arrived." Illyrio strolled into the room, cutting Viserys off.

Dany looked up in alarm, but tried not to let it show on her face for her brother's sake. Rising to her feet, she looked to her older brother with wide eyes. "Will you give me away on my wedding day, Viserys?" She asked softly, knowing it would make him happy to feel like he was involved.

"It would be my honor." He said, grinning as he offered her his arm. She took it and held on tightly, fear swirling around inside her as they made their way to the front steps of the palace.

There she saw him; a tall, huge, muscular mountain of a man upon a dark horse. His eyes were cold and unreadable, and his brown hair was pulled back into a long braid that hung down to his waist. Something about him intrigued her, though most of her feared him, a small part was drawn to the mystery behind him and his people. She would make this work. She would take her place as the rightful queen of the seven kingdoms. She would take Viserys to the red keep and keep him safe, and they would live out the rest of their days together. This was the thought that sustained her and kept her hope alive.

Gingerly letting go of her brother, she walked down the steps to meet him. Looking up at him with almost glowing violet eyes, she barely heard Illyrio read the wedding vows before it was all over. He stared at her with an indecipherable gaze, those dark eyes seemingly windows to an endless pit of mystery and violence.

Then it was over, and before she knew it, he was riding away with his khalasar, leaving her in dust. "That was it, then?" She asked Illyrio, "That was all? We didn't even get a chance to speak to each other."

Illyrio nodded to her. "The Dothraki do not believe in vows or long ceremonies, your grace. They value strength, stamina. Without action, words are close to meaningless." He replied.

A twinge of fear blossomed in the pit of her stomach. The Dothraki way sounded incredibly harsh. If what Illyrio said was true, it'd take a miracle and lots of persuasion to make an exception for Viserys, who would in no uncertain terms perish in such an environment. The thought of her brother holding a sword was as foreign to her as a king plowing a field. Around the age of 14, her brother made a complete 180 in terms of how he felt towards violence. Before, he'd been more than willing to kill anyone who got in their way or threatened Daenerys. But after he'd reached a certain age, the thought of shedding blood terrified him. He refused to tell her why, but she could only assume it had something to do with the ongoing terror that kept him prisoner in his own mind. So many things scared him now. He'd become gentler, more vulnerable, more easily persuaded. If the Dothraki valued strength, then he'd have no value to them at all.

 _No matter,_ she thought to herself, _I will not let that happen. I am the dragon's daughter. I will protect him as I have all these years._

* * *

"Mother, what a pleasant surprise." Joffrey said tightly, sitting down at the table across from the queen. Sansa did her best to carry herself with courage, but Joffrey could see it in her eyes how she trembled when Cersei spoke. She was clearly afraid. _She should be,_ he thought somberly.

Cersei gave him that smile of hers, the one that never failed to make him sick to his stomach. It was a knowing smile, one that conveyed her eagerness to play with her victims before devouring them. "Well, my dear, I haven't seen much of you these past few days. I thought a proper lunch would be rather nice. Do you agree, lady Sansa?" She asked, looking to the red haired girl.

Quick to respond, Sansa nodded with a timid smile. "Yes, your grace." She responded like a servant would, the standard, respectful greeting that could in no way be misinterpreted as a complete submission to the Queen's power.

Anger was beginning to well up inside the young king as he looked on the scene. He already hated having his mother control him, but he'd be damned if he'd stand by as she did the same thing to Sansa. "I was merely getting acquainted with my bride to be. Is that unbecoming of King?" He asked, trying to keep his temper in check while redirecting the conversation.

Cersei took a sip from her wine glass, eyes locked solely on her son. "Of course not, my boy. Many things are unbecoming of a King, but I've no doubt that Sansa here will make a fine queen. Unless, of course, palace life is too much for a sweet little dove like yourself?" She turned to the Stark girl.

At those words, Sansa's mind raced. _What does she mean, 'too much'? Does she know that I know? What if she found out and this entire meal is a ploy to get me to slip up?_ Instead of betraying her calmness, however, she steeled herself and gave Cersei a polite smile. "I rather enjoy it here, Your Grace, King's Landing is just gorgeous. Almost as much as that stunning gown you're wearing today." _A bit of flattery never hurt anyone._

Cersei repressed a sneer before gritting out, "Thank you, I've just had it made."

Joffrey smiled, actually smiled, at his wife's courage. Nothing annoyed his mother more than kindness, for it was one of the few things she was not good at faking. It intimidated her, made her feel vulnerable. Over the years she'd grown sickeningly comfortable around hatred. The people hated Joffrey, and by doing so they hated her, the master behind his every decree. Hatred was simple, hatred was a safe hiding spot. But expose her to kindness or love and she'd scatter like bilge rats at the sight of the sun.

"Well, this has certainly been enjoyable, but Sansa and I have to adjourn for the evening." Joffrey said, noticing Sansa growing tenser by the minute. Simply being in the presence of his mother was taking its toll on her, and he didn't want to keep her exposed any longer than he had to. So far he was sure that Cersei was unaware of Sansa's knowledge of his magic, but he didn't want to risk anything.

Cersei, clearly affronted by being pushed aside, protested. "So soon? I thought perhaps we'd all-"  
"Well, I am the king. And only what _I_ think really matters, doesn't it?" He bit, cutting her off. Silence enveloped the room. Defeated, Cersei bitterly accepted her loss and nodded curtly, leaving the servants to pick up after her as she slithered back to the castle. He watched with careful eyes until she was surely out of sight, before grabbing Sansa's hand. Looking at her now, blue eyes full of relief, he helped her up and they left the suffocating presence of the dining room together.


	13. Chapter 13

**Hello everyone! Thank you for supporting this story! The greatest gift I get are your reviews! Please vote in the poll up in my bio on whether of not you'd like to see more of the Targaryens! Enjoy!**

"You can be rid of her, you know," Sansa said quietly that night as they lay together in his chambers. "You're the king."

Joffrey scoffed at that, turning over to rest on his side. "I am no king. I'm her public mask." He spat bitterly, "Besides, it would never be that easy. She has eyes everywhere, not to mention my grandfather."

"What of your grandfather?" The red haired girl asked, loosening the top two laces of her corset to bring her some ease at the end of a long day.

A twisted smile came to the king's lips as he thought of his grandfather. The earliest memories he had of the man was watching, silent in the corner as he berated Cersei for trying to hone in on Robert's reign, attempting to make her voice heard. He remembered one night when he was 13, just getting back from a late night visit to the beach, when Tywin stumbled, drunk, into his chambers. The memory stuck with Joffrey because his grandfather was _not_ the type of man to lose himself in wine. He was always sharp, alert, stoic as to take down whatever enemy dared challenge him. He'd never found out why his grandfather had gotten so drunk, but what the man said never left him.

" _One day, you'll be king, grandson, then you'll know what it means to be a man."_ He'd slurred, " _I'll let you in on a little secret. Sooner than later, the Targaryens will cross the sea, and we'll be dragon meat… In fact, we're dead already. All of us are dead. We just don't know it yet."_

"My grandfather curries favor with all the other houses. He can get _her_ whatever she wants." He mumbled, staring at the fireplace. The flames danced brightly in the night, and he wondered not if, but when dragons would storm king's landing once more.

"It isn't fair that she gets to treat people this way," Sansa said, sitting down on the bed next to him, "someone has to stop this."

He looked up at her light blue eyes, which shone with fear and an another emotion that Joffrey couldn't read. _Innocent girl,_ he thought to himself, _Ned Stark has done right by you, shielding you from Westeros for as long as he could. You don't know the half of it._ "Who could stop her? The Tyrells? The Targaryens? Maybe even… Your family." He whispered, voice low.

Sansa frowned, eyes shining with hurt. "My family would never try to harm you," she breathed, "How could you say such a thing, knowing me?"  
Joffrey smiled brokenly, reaching up to feel the silkiness of her perfumed, red hair. "Your family knows only of what Cersei shows them. They hate me as much as they hate her."

"But-"

"They're right to." Joffrey interrupted, "They should. It means they have a sense of justice. Your father is a true man. He knows westeros can only hold for so long with my mother in charge. If it comes down to it… He will do what he must."

"He will not kill you." Sansa insisted again, eye narrowed.

Joffrey rolled over on his side, looking away from her. "And how could you possibly know such a thing?" He murmured, voice weary and tired.

The girl grasped Joffrey's shoulders and pulled them, forcing him to turn over and look at her again. "Because I would never let him." She spoke with such conviction that the young king almost believed it to be true. Her cobalt eyes were set so firmly, her cheeks slightly pink.

They were silent for a moment, neither knowing what to say, before she spoke again. "You are not cursed, Joffrey," she whispered, "you were given a gift. And… maybe… Maybe it was given to you to stop her."

Joffrey's eyes widened. _Stop Cersei? The woman will never stop. The only way she'd ever cease would be if she was dead. And gods, strike me down if I haven't dreamed of the event throughout my life._ But the boy knew he couldn't kill her. He had no support from any of the houses, no armies, and certainly no support from the people. All the world saw was what Cersei let them see. Yet, here Sansa was, looking into his eyes like she could read his soul.

"You think you're the only one who has suffered under her? You think that no one will share your visions? You're not alone, Joffrey," she breathed again, "you never have been."

He closed his eyes and simply leaned into the warmth of her embrace. It was still something foreign to him, the feeling of that warmth. It was something he'd barely known in his cold, dark world. A small part of him thought it was weak to accept such comfort from anyone, but that part was quickly overcome by the wave that was her _humanity._ And it was more powerful than anything he'd ever seen.

Suddenly, Sansa tensed and pulled away. Immediately afraid that she was angry or scared of his magic, he quickly backed off in regret.

"It's not you," she managed in a croaky, odd whisper, before clutching her stomach and hurrying behind the dressing canopy.

Confused, Joffrey ran to her. "What's wrong?" He demanded, forgetting about manners. He forgot about everything when Sansa emerged, her hands stained with red. She is ill, he thought in a split second, she is dying. He panicked.

"Sansa, are you hurt?" He asked, voice barely coming out, his eyebrows furrowed in worry. He couldn't accept the possibility of the only person who ever cared about him leaving.

But instead, Sansa shook her head and blushed slightly. "No," she said, voice trembling almost imperceptibly, "I'm a woman."

He couldn't help as his mouth dropped open in shock. This meant everything. It changed everything. Sansa could bear his children now. She was now a noblewoman, in the eyes of the council and of everything oficial. She no longer had to follow the stringent rules of a princess. It meant she was a Lady… _It also means that Cersei will know,_ he thought, his stomach dropping like lead. _She will use this to her advantage, any fool could know that._ He'd heard of tales where jealous royalty had poisoned their rival women, not to kill them but to leave them barren. It was one of the cruelest things anyone could do to a woman, and he'd shuddered when he recounted those memories. There was not a doubt in his mind that Cersei was aware of such poisons that could destroy the possibility of children.

"I-I'm sorry… This must seem disgusting to you, I'm so embarrassed-" Sansa began.

"My mother can never know," he cut her off, "I mean, there is no reason for you to be ashamed, I-It's to be celebrated, but…" He looked into her eyes and saw a mixture of fear and happiness. "You must keep it secret, for now." He said lowly.

"Why?" she asked with a frown, unaware of the scenarios that ran through the king's mind like a horror show.

Joffrey looked over his shoulder momentarily, making sure that the clank of armor was outside and that the guards were gone, before turning back to her. "My mother will… She can do… terrible things." He said, and his hand moved to cover her belly gently.

It took a moment for Sansa to understand what he was saying, but when she did, her eyes widened in horror and her hand flew to her mouth. "What are we to do?" She whispered, voice terrified, "She's bound to find out eventually."

Joffrey shook his head. "No one will know unless you tell them." He insisted, despite the gnawing knowledge that he had absolutely zero expertise in the area of womanhood.

Sansa wrung her hands together, eyes darting nervously from the door to the bed. "What if they find out?" She persisted, "They will begin to notice when I feel ill regularly. They will see that I change my gowns more often, Joffrey, I'm almost 14! People are bound to start asking me what is wrong if I continue to say that I have not flowered!"

Joffrey bit his lip, looking at the ground before back at her. It was true. Sooner than later, the symptoms that came with blood would begin to grow obvious to any other woman who was watching. _Her._ He knew he'd have to do something in the long term to protect her, but right now they could only afford to think day by day.

He grasped her shoulders, stilling her trembling form. "Hide it for now. Go about like you normally would. We will figure out what to do… Nothing will happen to you." He said, trying to put as much conviction into the statement as possible. He marveled as she nodded, trusting him, believing in him. He could only wonder what she saw in him, what gave her confidence about him. Looking at her kind face, her ruby red hair, he couldn't help but be amazed.

"Now," he said, trying to avoid sounding as awkward as possible, "do you… would you like help cleaning up? I can draw you a bath, I heard somewhere that warm water… erm… helps." All his life, the idea of womanhood and childbearing had disgusted him, and he never saw logic in it. But now, facing the situation they were in, he couldn't think of anything that was associated to Sansa as natural and beautiful. It didn't bother him anymore. _Strange,_ he thought to himself, _I've never had such a quick change of heart. Mm._

Sansa smiled at him, touched by his compassion and concern. A fortnight ago, she would not have believed that such a side existed in the seemingly spoiled, cold king. But now, she could only nod as he went to fill the bath with water, happy to feel like he was helping in at least some way.

She allowed herself to believe for an evening that their lives would turn out alright.

* * *

"Daenerys?" Viserys asked one night as they were sitting in their tent outside the camp. After riding with the Dothraki for nearly 12 hours, they finally set up refuge near a small lake. She watched as the women and children began to set up their nomadic houses, the men dismounting their horses before going to wait for their wives to prepare dinner.

Both the siblings were absolutely exhausted, as they'd never ridden horses that long. Halfway through the journy, Viserys had passed out against his sister. They shared the same horse, him riding behind her and holding on to her shoulders. He'd long forgotten how to successfully control any animal, and with the ease at which his mind flitted from thought to thought, Daenerys knew it was unwise to place him on his own stallion. She'd tried to ignore the looks and probable jeers the other men gave them, staring in disdain at the idea of a man sharing a horse with his sister. I am Khaleesi, she thought to herself as they rode, soon they will know they cannot disrespect ruler's brother.

When they finally came to get off their horses, both of their hands were chapped to the point of bleeding from holding the leather reins so long. Ser Jorah, who'd been nothing but kind to them so far, called for the handmaidens to come and put salves on their wounds. Daenerys, despite being dizzy from hunger and thirst, refused to be treated before her brother, overseeing that the red blisters had been cleaned and bandaged. Despite the protests of the servant women, she waited patiently until Viserys was finished before allowing them to fret over her. Already, she could see that a Khaleesi putting anyone before herself was a foreign practice in the Dothraki world.

They had gone straight to rest, a large foldable bed set up in Daenerys' tent. They were resting against the soft fabric, bathed in the flickering candlelight of the shelter. She was told that tomorrow would be her wedding party. Tomorrow she'd truly belong to the Khal.

VIserys was currently braiding and unbraiding his sisters platinum hair, gently taking the soft strands in his hands before weaving them into elegant designs, only to undo them and start again. It was one of the rare things they did together that had never changed. She had vivid memories of being a little girl, waiting anxiously to see the talented pattern VIserys had braided into her hair. She used to feel beautiful when he dolled her up like that, making time to make her feel like a princess even when they were begging for food and spending the night under bridges. _You are a princess,_ he used to tell her, _You deserve to look like one._ When she saw her hair in elegant designs, she felt like the most gorgeous girl in the world, like a royal princess.

She knew that the Khal would come for her soon, that this might be the last night she'd get to spend alone with her brother. So she reveled in it, she held her older brother closer even when he was delusional, peppering his face with feather light kisses and making sure he was healthy. He had a tendency to forget to drink or eat when not reminded.

"Mmh?" She murmured with her eyes closed, relaxing at the feeling of the warm bed.

"Did you want to marry the khal or did you have to because of me?"

Her eyes flew open at this, and she turned around to face him. He was staring at her placidly, blue eyes wide and unreadable as always.

"Of course not, Viserys, I wanted to marry Drogo." It wasn't completely a lie; she did want to so she could ensure her brothers safety. Few places in the world were kind to those who lived in their heads like Viserys. She wanted to have a buffer between him and the life she knew was so unforgiving. It had always been a concern of hers, however, if Viserys felt guilty about all the responsibility she had.

Her older brother sighed, looking back down at the covers. "I know it's because of me. It's because I cannot sail us back home. What kind of man is unable to support his own sister?" He whispered, eyes hollow and voice trembling.

Daenerys took his face in her hands and held it firmly. "The kind of man who sacrificed everything so that she could grow into a strong woman." She spoke with conviction.

Her older brother half smiled, eyes filled with awe at her. "You're the only thing I've ever done right in my entire life," He breathed, voice barely a whisper, like she was a magical, glimmering being that bore the key to the universe.

Daenerys didn't trust her voice to speak, so she simply leaned into his arms, resting her small frame against his chest. Closing her eyes, she pretended she was a little girl again, safe and sound in her older brothers embrace. When she didn't have to wonder where they'd get their next meal, how they were to survive the night. She pretended Viserys was the way he used to be. But even now, she wouldn't change him. _And any Khal who tries to keep me from my brother will be sorely disappointed,_ she thought to herself that night, _they will know who the dragon's daughter is._


End file.
